The Night of Crows
by SW4G M4N
Summary: AU: A sequel (Sort of) to my first story, The Deal. Changed Booker Elizabeth relationship. The year is 1913. Booker Dewitt is a private investigator in New York who is knee deep in debt to the wrong people. In his time of need, a woman approaches him with a job; the payout, enough to get him out of debt. What he doesn't know, is that the eyes of the night are watching him. HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here it is, the sequel to the deal! The two stories are going to be pretty separate, but there will be carry over in terms of characters and the ending of my first one sets this story up. Please read the first if you haven't! Also, remember to leave a review, feedback is welcome!**

Chapter One: A Stormy Night

Detective Booker Dewitt sat at his desk reading the New York Times, specifically the crime section. A dead man was found in the streets last morning, gunshot wounds compacted on several concussions caused by bludgeons.

Any normal person would have gasped in horror at the brutal murder, but Booker merely took a sip of his coffee and continued to read on. After being a detective for long enough, Booker found that crimes like the one in the paper didn't bother him as much. He didn't know when he had become so indifferent towards such actions, but indifference was necessary for his line of work.

A politician was just convicted of participating in prostitution. Booker clenched the handle slightly, but knew it was nothing new. Whores, gangsters, corrupt politicians; they were all the same to him. It was the disease that came with the beautiful city. Many didn't deem the trade off worthy, but he wouldn't want to live anywhere else. Booker had grown up in New York City. He was too used to its fast paced and vicious lifestyle to go anywhere else. Also, he owed to much money to leave just yet.

Booker finished reading the crime section and threw out the rest of the news. The economics and political section was of no concern to him. Quite frankly, reading those made him more angry and disgusted with the world then anything else.

He eyed his clock impulsively, waiting for something, anything to happen. The times between cases were becoming too long. He had debts and rents to pay, so work was something he needed. It seemed as if the police department was more interested in hiring detectives they could slip by, allowing the corrupt cops to continue their deal with the devils of the city while the few honest ones stayed blissfully ignorant.

Lieutenant James Roland, one of the only good cops he knew, promised to keep him in the loop though. James knew he was a good detective, and an honest one at that. Honest, it was a hard trait to find these days.

Booker opened up his desk and fished out a pack of smokes as he watched the door intensely. Any minute now, someone would walk through that door with a job, something that could pay off the line of people he owed money to.

As if on queue, there was a knock at the door. Booker perked up immediately, not expecting that his wishes had actually come true. Another knock sounded shortly after, along with a woman's voice calling, "Mr. Dewitt?"

Booker walked over to the door and opened it up for whoever was standing outside. His visitor was a woman with a hooded jacket on, who quickly walked over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down. She was soaking wet and shivering. Booker watched her carefully as he sat down across from her.

"Hello mam, are you in need of detective services?"

The woman nodded and pulled off her hood, revealing a pair of blue eyes and chocolate brown hair. Booker instantly recognized her from the fundraising event he had recently attended. He couldn't quite remember her name though.

"Hello Mr. Dewitt," she greeted with a weak smile

Booker saw that she was obviously still freezing, so he asked her, "Would you like a cup of coffee? You look like you're freezing."

Elizabeth nodded shyly, shivering the whole time. Booker got up and began to make her the warm drink. As he prepared her drink, he asked, "You're that girl I bumped into during the fundraiser, correct? What brings you around this neighborhood?"

"Well I was in need of detective services, and I figured since you are the only one I know right now, I decided to try you," she answered politely

Booker passed her the warm cup and she gave him a gracious nod. He then sat back down in front of her and pulled out a notepad and a pen. "What exactly seems to be the problem?"

Booker didn't know what a nice girl like Elizabeth was doing in a city like Manhattan. When he had met her at a fundraiser about a month ago, she had told him that she grew up in a small town in Iowa. She had never left her community her whole life, and by the time she was an adult, she was ready to see the world. So Elizabeth had packed her bags, kissed her mom and dad goodbye, and left for the big apple to experience life at its fullest. In Booker's opinion, she should have stayed in Iowa. The city had a way of swallowing up those who weren't prepared.

Elizabeth took a sip of coffee and shivered in delight, taking in the warmth. She then began her story. "When I was hired by the mayor, I was not just put in charge of fundraising and philanthropy, but all the funds. As I was doing some numbers yesterday morning, I found a strange inconsistency."

"An inconsistency?" Booker asked curiously, lighting up a smoke and sticking it in his mouth

Elizabeth nodded nervously and told him, "It seems as if a whole quarter of the money we've raised has gone to an anonymous donor. I don't know if the Mr. Jackson knows people are stealing from him, but I don't want to bring this to the public's attention. If the mayor knows I've lost a huge portion of his office's money already, I'll be fired for sure!"

Booker looked Elizabeth over, observing her flattering curves and her other jaw dropping features. He chuckled and pulled the cigar out of his mouth, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"Honey, I don't think you need to worry about your position," Booker told her with a smile

Elizabeth gave him a confused look. Booker realized that she really didn't know what he was talking about. That town she had grown up in must have been REALLY small. Booker shook his head and said, "Never mind, so what do you want me to do?"

"Oh," she squeaked, getting herself back on subject, "I need you to find out who's been pulling funds and how they've been able to access a government account. Again, I need this done discretely, no one can know."

Booker nodded and asked, "Do you mind taking me to see the mayoral funds papers? If I'm going to conduct this investigation properly, I need some evidence."

Elizabeth swallowed nervously and responded, "I don't know if I should let someone who isn't a government official see confidential papers…"

"Alright," Booker yawned, trying to play it cool, "Then you can go to the cops with this investigation. Unfortunately, wherever the boys in blue go, the tabloids follow. I imagine the mayor won't like tha-"

"Alright, I'll take you to them," Elizabeth quickly blurted

Booker told himself that one-day he was going to teach this girl how New York City worked, because she was sadly inept. He stood up and walked over to the door, opening it for her.

"Meet me tomorrow in front of Madison Square, and we'll walk over together," Booker told her as she picked coat of the rack and put it on.

As she walked out, she suddenly stopped and turned around. Elizabeth giggled to herself and said to him, "I'm sorry Mr. Dewitt, I almost forgot to discuss your payment."

Payment? How had he forgotten about that? Booker thought for a second and told her, "I'll size up the case once I get some evidence and find out a little more about it."

"That is fine with me Mr. Dewitt," she told him as she pulled the hood over her pretty head. She gave him a soft smile and a wave before heading back out into the rain.

Booker almost felt bad letting her out during such terrible weather, but he had work to do. He sat back down behind his desk and pulled out a notebook and a pen. He uncapped the pen and flipped the pad open. Booker then began to write the case file for the job.

_Case Name: Unnamed_

_January 12, 1913_

_Client: Elizabeth Anne Longworth_

_Client Description: 21 years old, brown hair, blue eyes, white, 5'6_

_Client Info: Ms. Longworth was born in the town of Fairfield, Iowa. She has led a sheltered life style, and is rather innocent. Should be a considered low level suspect as of now, in light of her upbringing. Ms. Longworth looked as if she had never even heard of political corruption when the Mayor was brought up in conversation. I don't know how qualified she is for her job. Mayor Jackson most likely hired her because she was a pretty face that he thinks he can take advantage of. I believe she is someone to be trusted though, again due to her upbringing and general ignorance of human nature._

_Case Info: Ms. Longworth has brought it to my attention that someone has been taking money from the mayor's office's funds. She told me that about twenty five percent had gone missing after the fundraising event, and ever since then it has been a recurring event. I must conduct this case discretely, for she does not want anyone to find out about this. More information will be added once a crime scene has been investigated and evidence has been compiled._

_-Booker A. Dewitt_

**A/N: Instead of journals, there will be case files in this story. I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I hoped you all enjoyed the first chapter! Here's the next one.**

** edboy: thank you very much**

** CJ: I hope you like this story as much as the last one**

** I Wumbo: I'll do my best not to disappoint!**

** IrishRed: I will, just don't expect anything super realistic I doubt I can impress a criminal justice major with a crime story. I'll do my best though!**

** LoneAssassin: Elizabeth will be with Booker for much of the investigation**

** MrCheeseCake: I went back and changed it to her correct height. but thanks for the heads up!**

** OphisSnake: Thanks for telling me the right height, I went back and changed it!**

** SilencedVigor: This story is going to be as long as it needs to be**

** Trains: It will be somewhat related, but the stories will be pretty separate**

** KimJungUn: I'm glad I've made you so happy. Unless you're the real Kim Jung Un. If you are, then Your Missiles America's Missiles. Just saying.**

Chapter Two: A Walk in the City

Booker stood in Madison Square early next morning, waiting for Elizabeth. It was a cold, snowy day in Manhattan, as usual, so cold he could see his own breath. Booker fished around in his pockets and fished out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep breath of the warm smoke. Booker exhaled with relief, feeling the heat of the embers close to his face.

He looked up at a nearby clock; Elizabeth should have arrived two minutes ago. Elizabeth was someone he had taken to be all about punctuality, seeing as she grew up on a farm. Then again, she still probably wasn't used to the city. For all he knew, she might have not even known where Madison Square was.

Booker took another drag from his cigarette, letting loose another cloud of smoke. As he smoked and watched individual snowflakes cross his sight, spinning daintily in the air, he spotted a figure in a leather coat approaching him. As the figure got closer, he saw it was Elizabeth, wrapped in a winter coat and a scarf. He could see she was still definitely not used to the weather. The cold was causing her to shiver just as much as she had been last night. When she saw Booker, a smile crossed her face and she cheerily jogged over to meet him. Booker smiled back, not something he usually did. Something about her happy attitude was infectious though, and he around her he couldn't help but feel a bit lighter.

"You know smoking is bad for you, Mr. Dewitt," she told him in a concerned tone of voice as she approached him

Booker pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped it a couple times, letting a few embers fly onto the snow covered concrete.

"Believe me, this is the least of my worries," he responded, throwing the cigar out anyways, "and you can call me Booker, no need for formalities."

"Alright, Booker," she said, as if rolling the name around in her mouth, trying to decide if she liked the taste, "are you ready to head over?"

Booker nodded, "I'm ready. Lead the way."

Booker had decided that he wasn't going to let the city take advantage of this one. Her innocence was something that he thought should be put out. There was no place for innocence in the world, it only got the blissfully ignorant cheated and abused. He was determined to teach her a couple lessons on street savoir-faire. Hopefully, by the end of this case, she would know the way of the city enough to survive on her own.

"So Mr. Dewitt, when did you become a detective?" Elizabeth suddenly asked as they strolled along the sidewalks of the busy city.

Booker held his hand out, as if to cut her off, and said, "For this investigation, we're going to have to lay down a couple ground rules. First one is, no back-stories. I've got some things about myself that I'd rather others didn't find out."

Elizabeth nodded understandingly, and repeated back to him, "alright, no back-story."

"Good, but Elizabeth, I am curious about one thing. Why did you want to move to this city," Booker asked her

Elizabeth gave him a funny look and then said to him, "I thought you said no back-stories?"

"I'm an investigator, so I actually need this information."

"Oh, of course," Elizabeth said, realizing that he had a good point. She thought about how to answer for a bit, and then told him, "To be honest, I just wanted to experience life outside Fairfield. New York City seemed like the furthest I could get from a small farm town, so I moved here. But where I really want to go one day is Paris."

"Paris?" Booker asked curiously, passing by a couple homeless men.

Elizabeth nodded excitedly, "Yes, I read about it all the time back when I was in Fairfield. The city sounds so beautiful and lovely, wouldn't you agree Mr. Dewitt?"

Booker chucked gruffly, "Anywhere is better then here."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow curiously and said to him, "You know, for a guy who has lived in this city for his entire life, you sure do seem to hate it."

"I have my reasons," Booker told her, being careful not to steer too close to the back-story subject again.

"Oh… right," Elizabeth sighed in a disappointed tone of voice.

Booker felt a bit bad for shrugging her off, so he told her, "Look, lets just say I'm in debt with some people you don't want to owe money to."

He immediately regretted it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Why had he just told her his debt issues? What was he thinking? He had told her specifically, no back-story, yet her big blue eyes were able to coax it out of him.

"Well I'm sure everything will work out Mr. Dewitt," Elizabeth told him cheerily, "And the mayor will pay you handsomely once you find out who's been stealing from his office."

Booker chuckled; her tireless optimism was kind of cute, "Let's hope so."

The two finally reached the large white animal house. Elizabeth walked up to the door and opened it for him politely. Booker nodded thanks to her as he walked in, and she closed the door behind him. The place was fancy that was for sure. Booker was less worried about the case when he saw the expensive red carpet running down the main hall and more worried where the tax payers' money was going.

"It's a nice carpet, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked guiltily, "A couple generous donors let us have it."

"Of course," Booker answered suspiciously, eyeing the golden portrait hanging on the wall.

Elizabeth led him through the hallways to the finances room. She pulled out a key and unlocked the heavy wooden doors. Once they opened with a click, she pushed through and let Booker in. The detective was surprised by how quaint Elizabeth's workplace was. She had a picture of her farm on the desk, and a couple trinkets she had collected around the city.

"Over here Mr. Dewitt," Elizabeth told him, waving to get his attention.

Booker walked over and saw a large book of financial records, containing every withdrawal and deposit made. He picked it up and began to flip through it. Elizabeth peeked over his shoulder and pointed to one name.

"There, that one man has made multiple large withdrawals during my time here under the cover of one name, Mr. John Chatham."

"John Chatham?" Booker mused curiously, looking at the handwriting. Something seemed familiar about it… Where had he seen this before? The 'm' was curved in strange way, in which the tip curled up at the end. It was very distinct, if he could only just remember what it was. Booker then noticed something on the ground near her desk. He stooped over and picked it up.

It was a small clump of opium, a very illegal drug. Booker knew opium was as expensive as it was dangerous, though. Only those with a significant amount of money could afford it. This eliminated most low end establishments and people, with the exception of a couple criminals who may have been able to procure some of the stuff. But if someone had enough money to support opium usage, then why would they need to be taking money from the mayor's office?

"Are you a smoker Ms. Longworth?" Booker asked as he turned towards her, hiding the opium in his hand

Elizabeth shook her head and answered, "I've never smoked before in my life, I promise."

Booker looked at her carefully and saw she was telling the truth. Her lips were to red and full of life for her to be a smoker. Her teeth were practically perfect as well. Plus, from what he could gather, Elizabeth held herself to a high moral standard. Booker didn't think she'd be caught dead lying. It definitely wasn't her opium, but if it wasn't hers, then whose was it?

"I need time to think this over," Booker told Elizabeth, as he turned around and headed out the door.

Elizabeth stood still for a bit, stunned at how quickly he had given up. She then ran after him and called, "Wait, so are you taking up the case?"

Booker turned around and answered, "Yes, I am. Meet me in front of my office tomorrow morning and we'll continue this investigation. Right now, I just need to think."

Elizabeth suddenly began looking at the ground in embarrassment. Booker looked at her, trying to figure out what he had done. Elizabeth then spoke up, "Do you mind walking me to my apartment? I forgot my purse so I can't pay the cab, and I still don't really know my way around…"

"Alright," Booker sighed, "Where do you live?"

"Upper West side, I'll know it when I see it," Elizabeth answered as the two closed up and headed back outside.

As they headed down to Elizabeth's apartment, Booker kept silent, running the different possibilities through his head. Where had he seen that 'm' before, and who was Mr. Chatham? Booker looked at the small clump of opium carefully, feeling it in his hands. From the looks of it, it was high quality.

"Change, spare some change?" a man from the side of the street begged as the two passed by.

Elizabeth looked at him, and was about to reach for some loose change when Booker grabbed her wrist.

"If they know you have money, they'll tear you apart," he hissed silently

Elizabeth frowned back at him and retorted, "Who? This poor old man who's down on his luck?"

"No," Booker responded, nodding over to a group of gangsters and sharks across the street, who were eyeing them carefully, "Them."

Elizabeth quickly moved her hand away from her jacket pockets and walked on. Booker saw her face grow a little darker as they moved on, as if not helping that man caused a bit of her to die inside. He felt bad for stopping her good-hearted actions, but it was for her own well being. Booker still didn't know why he cared so much, but something inside him felt obligated to look out for this innocent soul.

Booker began to hear criers on the streets, calling out, "NY Times! Come get your times! The latest news in your own two hands!"

He decided since he had been reading the same paper from two weeks ago for a while, it would be a worthy investment to get a new issue.

"Wait here," Booker told Elizabeth as he pulled a couple coins from his pocket and walked over to the paperboy. The little boy smiled when he saw Booker and asked, "Would you like a paper sir?"

"Yeah, here ya go," Booker answered as he paid the boy and took one of the papers. He opened it up, just to quickly check what he would be reading at his own apartment. Apparently a new fancy bar had just opened up in the wealthier part of town. Booker folded the paper and walked back over to Elizabeth, who was waiting patiently for him.

"Alright, let's keep going," Booker told her, motioning for Elizabeth to lead the way.

Elizabeth nodded and said to him, "My apartment isn't too far from here."

Not too long after, the two reached Elizabeth's apartment. Booker was impressed with how nice the building was. He had a feeling Elizabeth was wealthier than he was, but the building she lived in was one of the best in New York. When the two approached the door, Elizabeth turned and told him, "Thank you Mr. Dewitt, I do hope you have a great rest of the day."

"You two Ms. Longworth," Booker responded, tipping his head to her

Elizabeth smiled and headed inside her apartment, leaving Booker alone again on the side of the road. Booker smiled to himself and made his way back to his office. Little did he know, this seemingly small job was about to become the most important case in his life.

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed their little walk. For those who know a lot about animals, you may pick up on a more hidden clue I put in there.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I was away from home. I hope you all enjoy!**

** SamTrox: I'm glad! It's not really as much of a clue as a foreshadow I guess, but still good!**

** edboy: Thanks man**

** CJ: It's alright, I don't think many people saw it either. It's pretty difficult to recognize.**

** OphisSnake: I'll let you guys know soon enough**

** IrishRed: Well Booker is a Private Investigator, but he is on the side of the law!**

** LoneReaper: I'm glad!**

** SilencedVigor: There will be some connection, but not much.**

** ZAMSPEAR: Will do, will do!**

Chapter Three: Carcass in the Ally

The next day, Booker had to put Elizabeth's case on hold. He got the call at 3:00 AM from none other then James Roland, the first black police lieutenant in New York and a great one at that. It was a homicide case, a man found dead in an ally late last night, no gunshot or bludgeon wounds. The body had been almost completely picked clean of all its meat, leaving nothing but bones and rotting flesh. Booker ran this report through his mind several times as he approached the crime scene.

Policemen were posted around the area, trying to keep passing pedestrians away from the area of interest. Even the news brigade wasn't allowed in, due to the graphicness of the murder. Booker began to smell death in the air as he walked over to one of the cops.

When the cop stepped in front of him, Booker pulled out his identification and said, "Detective Booker Dewitt, I've been hired to assist with this investigation."

"My apologies Mr. Dewitt," the policeman said as he stepped aside, "Right this way."

Booker stepped past the barriers and spotted Lt. Roland, who was speaking with one of his policemen. He walked over and tapped the Lieutenant on the shoulder to get his attention. Lt. Roland turned around and smiled slightly, shaking Booker's hand.

"Booker, I'm glad you could make it," James told him in a serious tone of voice as he began to lead Booker to the crime scene.

Booker pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. After taking a drag, he asked James, "What do we got?"

"As I said in the call, it's a murder without a murder weapon," James reported as they approached a crowd of policemen, all huddled around one thing, "I don't know anything or anyone capable of this brutal of a crime. Whoever did this isn't even human, more like an animal."

Lt. Roland waved for the cops to disperse and go back to their stations. The stench of death grew even stronger, almost causing Booker to gag. When the crowd cleared out, Booker was horrified by what he saw. As a detective, he had witnessed many horrible acts against humanity. But all the whores, all the murders, all the addicts, and all the greed he had ever seen didn't amount to the corpse that lay before him. It wasn't even recognizable, because there was no face. There was no skin. There were no eyes. There was only reddish green flesh and white bone lying on the cold stone of a New York ally.

"My God…" Booker murmured as he pulled his collar up, trying to block out the awful smell permeating from the 'body'.

"This is the most disgusting act I have ever seen," James told him as he bent down near the body, observing it carefully.

Booker knelt down beside the corpse as well, eyeing it over. It was so mutilated; he couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. Pieces of cloth lay around the torn up body, probably from whatever this person was wearing before their death.

"This person wasn't burned to death, that's for sure," Booker began to report as he went to work, "No signs of charring, plus the cloths are torn up around it. It couldn't have been a bludgeon either."

"Maybe they used some sort of blade to skin the victim," James suggested

Booker shook his head, "No, it would take much to long, plus the victim's screaming would have attracted others."

"Maybe the corpse was moved here?"

"Without any trail of blood? I doubt it," Booker responded

As he looked over the body, his eye caught something. Off to the side, close to the victim, was a small black feather. Booker walked over and picked it up, twirling the light plume in his hand. He didn't know what it could have to do with the case, but at this point, any evidence would have been helpful. Then, he noticed something else. Nearby, there was a small hand written note that said, "Midnight Bar and Club 4:00".

Booker's eyes widened when he realized that the 'm' on Midnight was exactly the same as the one on John Chatham. Could Elizabeth's case and this murder have anything to do with each other? And who was this Chatham character?

"Booker, did you find anything?" James asked, snapping him out of his daze

"No," Booker lied as he sneakily tucked the note away in his pocket, "I haven't. I'll have to review the case files back at my office. Do you mind sending me a copy?"

"Sure thing, just make sure to give them back once you're finished," Lt. Roland told him as they both stood back up and wiped off their hands.

Booker shook the lieutenant's hand once more and then began to leave the crime scene. He ran the evidence through his head over and over again. He knew exactly what the Midnight Club was; he had read it in the paper. It was a fancy club that had just opened up, the sort of place all the high-class people went to so they could discuss politics, different wines, and how heavy their wallets were getting. Booker also knew that the mayor was going to be there to promote it at 4:00 this evening. Whoever this person was, he was obviously cordially invited. It was clear that he needed to investigate the club, but he needed an invite, and most importantly, money to get in. Good thing Booker knew just the man for the job.

Booker called over a horse drawn carriage and told the driver to take him the upper east end. The horse snorted as the cart began to lurch to a start, rolling down the cobblestone street.

"So who do you know that lives on this side of town?" the driver asked him, trying to make small talk.

"An old friend from the war," Booker answered non-specifically, lighting up another cigarette.

"You fought at Wounded Knee?"

"Look, can we talk about something else," Booker snapped, a little annoyed by how curious this carriage driver was.

"Sorry sir…" The driver said in a downtrodden voice as they pulled up in front of a large house. Booker stepped out and walked up to the door. He gave it a loud knock and waited outside for an answer. After a couple seconds, a man with a large white beard opened the door. When he saw Booker, he gave him a toothless smile and laughed heartily.

"Booker Dewitt, how have you been?" the man chuckled, putting his arm around Booker's shoulder and leading him inside.

"Just fine Captain Slate," Booker answered, giving his superior a polite nod

Slate led him to the kitchen and pulled out two cups, along with a bottle of whisky. He poured the golden liquid inside each glass and handed one to Booker. Slate then sat down next to him and asked, "So, what brings you here son?"

"I'm in need of some money for a case, sir," Booker answered, taking a sip from his glass. The whisky tickled the back of his throat as he swallowed, almost causing him to tear up. Slate always liked the heavy stuff.

"Please Booker, call me Cornelius," Slate chuckled, slapping him on the back, "and sure thing."

Cornelius Slate was Booker's superior officer back at Wounded Knee, and also one of his best friends. Booker knew that Cornelius was one of the few that knew how it felt to have the screams of the dead haunt his dreams every night, maybe even more so then him.

"So Booker, the word is that you've gotten yourself a pretty young lady," Slate chuckled as he pulled out a stack of dollars.

"A pretty young la-"

Booker suddenly realized he meant Elizabeth. Slate might have seen them together, just by chance. Booker quickly said, "No, no, Elizabeth's just a client."

"Is that so," Cornelius laughed, raising his eyebrow suspiciously, "well you should act fast, she is a pretty one. If you wait around too long, someone is bound to snatch her up."

"I'll keep that in mind," groaned Booker as he pocketed the money, "Thank you Cornelius, I'll pay you back by the end of the week."

Cornelius shook his head and told Booker, "Dewitt, you're in enough debt. Just keep it."

"I'm not a charity case Captain," Booker told him, insisting that he pay the man back

"No, you're not Booker, but there's a difference between being a charity case and accepting help," Slate told him adamantly, giving him a stern look, "Booker, we all just want what's best for you."

"I don't deserve that," Booker muttered just loud enough so Slate could hear him.

He walked silently out the door with the money in hand. He was going to pay Slate back, he was sure of it. Right now, he just had to pay back everyone else he owed money to. Hopefully, Elizabeth would be the key.

Booker headed back to his apartment later that afternoon to get changed. He checked the time and saw it was 3:20; Booker had enough time to get changed and head over. The stairs creaked as he walked up the broken down apartment building. Booker hated going to his room, it was just a reminder of how deep in he was. Rats scurried behind him as he unlocked his almost broken door and opened up to his room. Inside was a small bed, a desk, a nightstand with a lamp, and a radio.

Booker sighed in exhaustion as he turned on the radio and began to change into a suit. A song began to play that he had never heard before.

Booker walked over and turned up the volume a bit. The song went like, "There are loved ones in the glory, whose dear forms you often miss. When you close your earthly story, will you join them in their place? Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, by and by? Is a better home awaiting, in the sky, lord in the sky?"

Something about that song soothed him, but he didn't know what. Booker listened to the beautiful song as he pulled on his jacket and tightened his tie, mentally preparing himself for the one thing he hated most, spending time with the upper class. The blinders that kept their decadent eyes away from the true state of the world angered him beyond belief. It was as if they could only see into their small circle of people who were lucky enough to make it. There was something darker behind this, though. The murder last night, the money stolen from the Mayor's office, it was all connected. Booker just had to find out how.

**A/N: Sorry, this was kind of a slow chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry, but with AP exams coming up, my updates are going to slow down a bit. School comes first! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!**

** edboy: Thanks man!**

** Laengruk: You'll see...**

** CJ: I thought the song was a nice touch too**

** OphisSnake: Yeah, that song fits the game perfectly**

** LoneReaper: Yeah, Dewitt's got it rough**

** Lindqvist: I'm glad you liked it! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.**

Chapter Four: The Midnight Club

It was about 3:55 when Booker managed to finish getting dressed and head over to the Midnight Club. When he did arrive, he was extremely impressed. They had brought spotlights out for the occasion, rolled out the red carpet, and the club even had one of those fancy neon signs. Booker tugged a bit at his tie as he approached the entrance of the club, where a bouncer was letting in people who were on the list, or people who could pay the amped up entrance fee. He stuck his hand in his pocket and felt the wad of cash, generously donated by Captain Slate, making sure it was still there. When he felt the paper in his pocket, he sighed in relief, took a deep breath, and walked up to the bouncer.

The only people before him in line were a couple who was dressed in some of the nicest cloths he had ever seen. He immediately recognized the man as the head of the New York section of the Pinkertons, his previous employers. If there was one thing he hated himself for more then Wounded Knee, it was his time with those bastards. They had called on him to make examples of strikers and other employees whose unrest disturbed companies. Booker had worked with them for three years and then finally gotten out after one of their orders crossed the line. After that, he spent his time in a downward spiral of drinking, gambling, and getting in debt with the wrong people.

Booker looked away slightly to keep from being recognized as the couple walked inside. Once they had passed, he turned back to the bouncer and pulled out the money. The bouncer flipped through the bills, counting them to make sure it was enough, and then motioned towards the door. Booker nodded graciously and then headed inside.

The club had a complete orchestra inside playing beautiful music as most of the wealthy people in Manhattan danced with each other. The bar was one of the nicest he had ever seen, but unfortunately he was at the club on business, not to drink. Booker looked around, eying each person carefully. As he looked through the crowd, he saw businessmen, lawyers, doctors, and other people who had managed to strike it rich.

A large crowd of photographers and journalists surrounded one man, who had a beautiful blonde hooked around his arm and was waving to them with a smile. Booker instantly recognized him to be the mayor, who was trying to suck up to the public for his upcoming re-election. Beside the mayor was another man, who was getting just as much attention as his powerful friend. Booker's eyes widened when he realized that it was none other then the New York Governor. What was he doing here?

The governor was a man Booker actually had respect for. He was one of the only politicians Booker had ever heard of who was actually, legitimately, clean. While the New York governor may not have been perfect, it was people like him that the country needed more of.

As Booker watched the transaction carefully, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around quickly, his heart beating a mile a minute, only to find Elizabeth standing in front of him with a smile.

"Mr. Dewitt," She greeted happily, "I didn't think you were going to be here."

"Please Elizabeth, just call me Booker," he insisted again

Elizabeth nodded and responded, "Alright, Booker, come dance with me!"

"Sorry, I don't dance. Anyways, I'm here on business."

Elizabeth gave him a pouty frown, "Come now Booker, can't you loosen up for a second? I want that money to be found as much as you do, but you need to live a little!"

Before Booker could protest, Elizabeth grabbed him by the hand and yanked him over to the dance floor, where a slow minuet had just begun to play.

Elizabeth put her hands on Booker's shoulders and wriggled her hips into his hands. The two began to slowly move together, swaying from side to side in full synchronization. Booker tried to focus on the case at hand, but found himself mesmerized by the woman in front of him. How was she able to do this to him? The look on her face did not scream seduction like most of the women he met. She had a carefree smile, as if she really just wanted to dance around and enjoy life. Booker tried to look away, but her blues eyes seemed to capture him.

"So Booker, what's your favorite part of New York city?" she asked him with a gentle smile as the two circled each other.

Not many had bothered to ask Booker that question. What did he like about the city? It wasn't the fast pace or the people that was for sure. "I don't know, why I stay here."

Elizabeth gave him a reassuring look, which somehow slowed his heart; "I'm sure deep down you love it here. The freedom, the people, its all so wonderful! I've seen so many new things, had so many different experiences!"

"You sure do like it," Booker chuckled, pulling Elizabeth in a little closer

"Oh yes! I want to go everywhere, see everything!" Elizabeth told him excitedly

When the song ended, the crowd turned towards the band and clapped for them. As Booker looked over to the band, he noticed a suspicious shadowy figure push through the crowd. He couldn't make out specific features, but something about him made Booker feel unsettled.

"Stay here," Booker told Elizabeth quietly as he left the group of dancers

He kept moving towards the figure, whose features were still indistinguishable. As he got closer though, he saw the man was wearing a black cloth mask, had armored shoulder pads, and a chest plate. Booker reached out to grab the man, but he suddenly disappeared in a flurry of feathers. In his place were a couple black birds with burning red eyes. Booker almost did a double take. What the hell had just happened? Did someone slip him some drug?

Then, Booker heard a woman scream from across the room. He spun around and saw a flock of crows circling in front of the governor. The birds suddenly dispersed and the same man dropped out, holding two knives in his armored gauntlets.

"What's going on here!" the mayor demanded, visibly sweating in fear.

The masked man stood up straight and announced in a deep, dark voice, "Governor Harris, the Court of Ravens has sentenced you to death! May God show you more mercy than I!"

Before the governor could even turn to run, the two knives embedded themselves in his body, one to the chest and the other right between the eyes. The club broke out into chaos, with people screaming and sprinting out the doors. The masked man stood over the dead governor, watching the dead body intently.

"Neil!" the mayor yelled, turning angrily to the assassin.

The large man tackled the masked man and began to punch him mercilessly. Crowds of people began to cheer for him; even Booker was surprised by this surge of bravery. Unfortunately, it didn't last very long. The assassin managed to stab the Mayor in the shoulder and throw him off. Booker pulled out his pistol and fired a shot at the assassin. The masked man jumped away from the mayor, who was holding his shoulder in pain, and began to sprint out the door. Booker ran after him, his revolver at the ready. The perp burst out the exit with Booker in hot pursuit.

"Stop! In the name of the law I order you to stand down!" Booker yelled as he ran after the man.

Surprisingly the masked assassin did stop, dead in his tracks in fact. He then turned around and looked at Booker, the red visors on his goggles glowing brightly.

"Mr. Dewitt," he said calmly, not even worried that Booker had him at gunpoint, "I have no quarrel with you. But believe me when I tell you that you've gotten yourself mixed up in something you cannot comprehend. Back down now and stay away from the girl, or else the court will find you. Stay away from the girl, Songbird."

"What girl?" Booker demanded

The masked assassin held out his hand and suddenly, hundreds of crows began to surround the killer. Booker fired a couple shots into the fray, hoping to at least hit something. By the time the crows dispersed, the man was gone without a trace.

Booker looked in shock as only a couple crows were left where a man once stood. This wasn't possible. He was just going to wake up in a couple seconds and find that he had a little too much to drink. What had just happened?

"Booker!"

Booker turned around and saw Elizabeth with a group of policemen behind her.

"Booker, are you alright?" she asked, running over to him with a scared look on her face.

"I'm fine," he answered, holding his head, trying to get a grip on reality, "I just… I just need to get some sleep."

James stepped forward through the wall of policemen and asked, "Booker, what the hell just happened?"

"H-He disappeared!" Booker exclaimed, still staring at where the man once stood.

Booker knew he was going crazy; he had to be! There was no way someone could just disappear in a flock of crows like that! It was impossible. It was impossible.

"Damnit," James yelled, "He killed the governor, and now he's gone. I want all the forces we can get searching adjacent areas, this guy does NOT leave a free man!"

Booker ran over to the spot where the assassin had vanished from and looked it over. All he could find, though, were the same black feathers that surrounded the victim from the night before.

"What's going to happen now that the governor's gone?" Elizabeth asked Booker as he looked over the crime scene.

"I don't know," Booker answered, "the public will pick a new candidate. Unfortunately, I don't think any of them will be as good as Harris…"

As he investigated, Booker heard the sound of footsteps behind him. When he turned around, he saw a group of escorts along with the mayor, whose arm was in a sling because of the knife wound.

"What's your name son?" Mayor Jackson asked friendlily, holding his good hand out.

Booker looked at his hand as if it was poison and answered spitefully, "Booker Dewitt."

The mayor raised his eyebrow at the harsh tone, but decided to let it slide. "Well, Mr. Dewitt, it was very brave of you to chase after that madman. I assume you are the investigator our police force usually ropes in?"

"That would be me," Booker answered, "although, as of lately, work has been scarce."

The mayor chuckled, "Well I guess that means we're doing our job, right?"

Booker nodded, and then turned his back on the mayor, going back to look over the crime scene. The Mayor muttered something as he walked off, probably arrogant bastard or something like that. He didn't care if the mayor thought he was the devil himself though. All that mattered is the case at hand.

"You could have been a little more polite," Elizabeth spoke up, interrupting his train of thought.

Booker gave her an annoyed look and responded, "yes, and I also could have bitten my hand off. Just because I can, doesn't mean I will."

She gave him a cross look and said, "The mayor, believe it or not, is a very nice man. I know you have your general distrust in authority, but the least you can do is give him a little respect."

"Elizabeth, I think there are more important things at stake then my manors," Booker groaned, "Why don't you just get some rest? I'll call you if there are any developments in your case."

Elizabeth huffed in frustration and stormed off. Booker looked over his shoulder and considered going after her, but decided that the task at hand was more important. He looked back to the three crows sitting idly where the assassin had disappeared. A small object caught his eye as he looked around.

Booker picked it up and saw it was a small pin with the head of a crow drawn on it. He knew it was painted by hand, since the small picture on it was chipping off. That meant there was probably a place in the city that made crafts like the pendent. If he found the place where the pin was made, he might be able to find the assassin.

Booker stored the pin away in his pocket and stood upright. He looked at the three crows one more time before turning his back on the dark ally. The Court of Ravens, Booker had never heard of them before. But whoever they were, they were dangerous and making their home in his city. Booker was NOT going to let them stay any longer.

**A/N: The clue that I mentioned earlier was that the Chatham Raven is a large songbird, thus the man's fake last name was Chatham.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry again for the later updates, I have exams coming up, which are taking up most of my time. Enjoy the chapter!**

** Goomba300: Oh, you'll see... MWAHAHAHAHA!**

** CJ: Elizabeth will not be able to use tears because of what happened in the first story. I have a great plan to incorporate songbird too.**

** OphisSnake: It was a tricky clue, so don't worry**

** LoneReaper: We'll see where this adventure takes us!**

** TheSilencedVigor: As I said in the summary, their relationship is changed. This chapter should answer your question.**

** ZAMSPEAR: The change of appearance was intentional, don't worry**

** edboy: Thanks!**

** Zach: YES! Yu Darvish= straight boss. Glad you like my story that much!**

** Cypher: Let's hope this story can live up to the first one!**

Chapter Five: Family Visit

_Case Name: The Brotherhood of the Crow_

_January 20, 1913_

_Client(s): Elizabeth Anne Longworth, Mayor Walter Leroy Jackson, Lt. James Arthur Roland_

_Case Update: Two days ago, the New York Governor, Mason C. Harris, was assassinated by an unknown killer. The perpetrator, at the time of Governor Harris' death, was wearing a lightly armored suit and a black mask, covering his whole head. The murder weapons were two knives, one to the jugular and the other in between the eyes. The assassin obviously has been trained, shown by the accuracy with which he threw the two knives. The assassin also seems to have some sort of supernatural ability. When trying to escape me, he was able to summon a flock of crows, which engulfed him. By the time the birds had left, the man was gone. Note, the man may have escaped; only using the birds as a distraction. That still wouldn't explain how he was able to call the crows in the first place. The assassin also called me a strange name, 'Songbird'. He told me to stay away from the girl. Unfortunately, there are a lot of girls in New York, so as of now, I have no concrete evidence as to it is. I do have my hunches though. What I do know is this assassination, the murder three days ago, and Elizabeth Longworth's case are all linked. I all need to know is how._

_Booker A. Dewitt_

Booker looked checked through his newly written update on the crow case, and then stored it away in his filing cabinet. After two days of searching, he was not able to find the store where the crow pendant was made. He pulled the small pin out of his pocket and flipped it in his hand. If he only knew what he was up against, he might have had an idea where to look. But this was the first time he had heard of the Court of Ravens. Booker opened up his drawer and pulled out a smoke, propping his feet up on his desk. As he was about to light up his cigarette, Booker heard the door open.

"Booker, you know what father said about smoking."

Booker looked up and saw a blonde woman in a long dress and a large hat standing in front of him with a child.

"Mary? What are you doing here?" Booker asked as the child ran over to him excitedly.

"We were passing by, and Mommy said we could come and see you, Uncle Booker!" the kid said cheerfully.

Booker gave Mary an annoyed look and told her, "I'm sorry Mary, but I'm in the middle of a case."

Mary smiled, not even taking in his glare, and sat down in front of his desk. "Come on Booker, Jimmy wanted to see you so badly."

Mary was one of the girls Booker grew up with in the orphanage. His dad had adopted her before he was born. She was still as much of a big sister, even though she wasn't biologically related. Mary had settled down with her husband in Connecticut and was living happily ever after. Booker secretly envied her carefree life, but he wouldn't admit it to her face. She barely came to New York, but when she did, she always avoided him. He didn't blame her, what with all the drinking and gambling. But he had cleaned up his act, which brought more frequent visits from his adopted big sister.

"So Booker, how have you been?" she asked him

"Busy," Booker answered curtly, not glancing up from the newspaper he had just opened.

Mary laughed, "C'mon Booker, we haven't talked in so long, tell me something."

"I'm working on a case."

"That's great!" Mary told him happily, relieved that her younger brother had found work, "What was the crime?"

Booker gave her a funny look and responded, "I'm not really at liberty to expose that information."

Mary frowned at him sarcastically, "Booker, I doubt it's anything I can't read in the papers."

Booker, ignoring Mary's wishes, lit up his cigarette and took a deep inhale. As he out blew the smoke, he said to her, "Believe me, it's unlike anything you've ever heard of."

"Fine," sighed Mary in disappointment, "How are things going on other fronts? Have you found someone yet?"

Booker rolled his eyes. Ever since she had gotten married and he had stopped drinking so heavily, Mary had been determined to find Booker a love of his own. Whenever she did visit (which was still not often) she'd insist on taking him out to find someone. Booker, each time, would turn her down and insist that he had much too much to do.

"Mary, I'm really busy with this case. I don't have time to go out chasing women," Booker told her sternly.

Mary groaned in annoyance, "Booker, you have got to find someone. You don't want to spend your whole life alone, do you?"

"I'm perfectly fine al-"

The two were interrupted by a knock on the door. Before Booker could say do anything, his nephew ran over and opened up the door. Of course, with perfect timing, Elizabeth walked in with a beautiful white bodice on and her hair done up in a nice ponytail with a bow around it.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elizabeth said nervously, "I didn't realize this was a bad time. If you want I can just come back later."

"No, it's fine, Elizabeth. Just wait outside, and I'll be with you in a little bit," Booker answered

Elizabeth nodded to Mary politely and walked out, closing the door behind her. Right when the door clicked shut, a smirk shot across Mary's face.

"So, you haven't found someone?" Mary giggled, looking at the door, and then back at Booker.

Booker buried his face in his hands and groaned audibly. He did not want his sister meeting Elizabeth. It seemed as if everyone was getting the wrong idea about them, and his sister definitely would not be swayed from what she thought.

"I gotta say," Mary told him with a smile, "I didn't think you had it in you little brother. She is quite lovely."

"Elizabeth is my client, NOT, my girlfriend," Booker snapped, annoyed with his sister's assumption.

Mary laughed, "Why are you ashamed? Most men would kill for a woman like her."

"Uncle Booker, is she my aunt?" Jimmy asked innocently, causing Booker to sweat bullets. The little boys eyes looked up at him hopefully, longing for another member of his small family.

Mary gave him a look that said 'choose your next words carefully'.

Booker gulped and told him, "Sorry kiddo, but she's just a friend from my work."

Jimmy looked down in disappointment and sighed, "Oh… alright…"

"Why don't you take her to dinner," Mary asked him, "as I said, she seems like a nice girl."

"Because, that would be highly unprofessional, getting involved with a client," Booker scoffed, trying desperately to get his sister off his back.

Mary crossed her arms and looked at him with determination, "Let's make a deal. If you take this one girl out to dinner, I'll leave your personal life alone. Just make one honest attempt."

Booker's eyes widened when he heard the offer. It was rather tempting. Mary was right; Elizabeth was a very lovely woman. He decided that it might be worth it to throw out his work ethic this once and take her out. It wasn't like they would get romantically involved after one night, right?

"Fine," Booker huffed, standing up and walking to the door.

He opened it up and saw Elizabeth leaning on a wall in the hallway, waiting patiently. When she heard the door open, her head perked up and a pretty smile graced her face. Booker felt himself sweating, what was with this girl? He walked over to her and asked, "Sorry about that, but my sister dropped in for a surprise visit. Elizabeth, would you like to discuss whatever you wanted to talk about over dinner tonight?"

"Oh," Elizabeth responded, surprised that Booker wanted to spend more time with her, "Alright. How about we go to the Rose? It's a quiet place, so you'll like that, right?"

"Yeah, that works. I'll meet you there around eight."

Elizabeth smiled and waved goodbye, then left his office. Booker sighed in relief as the door swung closed. When he turned around, he saw Mary leaning on the door frame smiling widly.

"I don't know why you insist on doing this to me," Booker grumbled as he walked back into his office.

Mary hit him lightly on the back and told him, "Don't be such a stick in the mud. I'm sure you'll be thanking me later."

Booker didn't know why he let his sister push him around. She was smaller then he was in every way! Her will, though, was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was as if she had been through the worst of times, and knew how he felt. He never knew what happened to her, and his dad never bothered to inform him. It was a dark family secret that he resented not being a part of. Then again, it might have been something he wouldn't have wanted to know. Booker at least wanted the choice.

When Booker looked up, he saw Mary holding Jimmy's hand, standing at the door.

"I'm going to take Jimmy to go see dad," she told him, "But I'm coming back tomorrow to ask how it went."

Booker waved her off, pulling out his case files right as the door clicked. He took the pin out of his pocket as well, looking it over carefully. There had to be something to narrow his search places down, something. Booker then noticed something funny about the paint. When he looked at it more closely, he realized that it had Chinese lead paint on it. China town, that's where the thing was from. He recognized the paint now; it was painted on all the small crappy merchandise in that neighborhood.

Booker was about to jump to grab his gun and head over there to find the assassin and bust some heads, but then he noticed his suit and tie hanging from his closet. If he got caught up in a possible arrest, he definitely would miss his date with Elizabeth. Why did he care? He had broken girl's hearts before.

But as he was about to step out the door, he suddenly stopped and sighed in frustration. Booker couldn't do that to such a nice girl. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't help but like her.

"Well, she is the one paying me," Booker reasoned with himself.

That was it. Just because of the pay.

**A/N: Oho, Booker's getting sucked into this case (or pushed in by his sister, for that matter). I hope you all enjoyed it!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Again, sorry for the late updates! I am really trying to crank away at these AP exams, and I haven't had as much time to write.**

** Laengruk: Yeah, he's not a people person**

** CJ: Well you will see more of Mary. I'm glad you liked her!**

** LoneReaper: No one can stand up to their sister! I've tried!**

** ZAMSPEAR: I'm glad you liked it!**

** OphisSnake: Booker's only a pushover when it comes to Mary (she's very assertive)**

** Cyphr1s: Well hopefully this chapter is as intriguing as the last!**

** edboy: Thanks man!**

Chapter Six: Date Night

Booker was completely mesmerized. He was almost sure he had never seen anything so beautiful. The dim candles that slightly lit up the night around them were playing tricks on his eyes. There was no way he was sitting down, having dinner with a woman like that. But it the reality became more apparent as the moonlight reflected slightly off of her dark brown hair. Elizabeth was drop dead gorgeous.

She wore the same blue and white dress he had first met her in, along with the black boots she loved so much, and a cloth choker. Her lips were blood red and her deep blue eyes were gleaming. This was it. This was perfection.

"Booker, are you alright?" she asked politely as she put down her menu

Booker cleared his throat quickly and responded, "Oh, yeah, I'm alright. So, Elizabeth, I've been wondering, how did you meet the mayor?"

"Well my dad knew him pretty well," Elizabeth answered, thinking back on when she first moved to Manhattan, "And when I moved to Manhattan, daddy told me to meet with him. I, of course, did and he offered me a job in his office."

"Just like that?"

"Well, no. I may have not gone to school, but I'm not stupid," Elizabeth giggled, covering her mouth slightly as she did

Booker tugged at his collar nervously and asked, "So how do you know the complex economics for your job?"

"Booker, I've been on my father's small estate my whole life. When you're stuck on a farm with no one else around, there's not much else to do other then read."

Booker had known she had spent most her life in the small town she grew up in, but he hadn't realized she had never life. No wonder Elizabeth was so innocent; this was actually the first time she had been introduced to society.

"Living on the farm was pretty difficult though," Elizabeth continued, "I never really knew many people growing up. The only company I had usually a small songbird I kept as a pet."

"A songbird? What did you name it?" Booker asked curiously, leaning in closer

Elizabeth blushed slightly and said nervously, "Ummm, well I named him… Songbird."

Booker laughed, "You named your songbird Songbird?"

"Well what would you have named him?" Elizabeth huffed defensivly

Booker thought for a minute and realized he didn't really have a good name for a songbird. It wasn't a common pet, so there weren't any common names to go off of. "I don't know," he answered sheepishly.

Elizabeth smirked and said triumphantly, "See? Anyways, by the time I was twenty-one, my father gave me permission to leave the farm."

"You know, I think you're the only person I know who has grown up on a farm," Booker told her as he looked into her vast blue eyes.

A waiter walked over to their table and placed their food in front of them. Booker looked at his pasta hungrily when the man revealed his platter. The waiter then poured both of them some wine and handed the two glasses out. Booker and Elizabeth both clinked the glasses together in cheers and then took a sip.

After the two finished eating, Booker called for the check. As the waiter left them to grab the receipt, Booker and Elizabeth sat silently and patiently.

Elizabeth rested her cheek in her hand, leaning her elbow on the table. Booker gave her a friendly smile. Suddenly, the two began to lean in closer. He felt the warmth of the candles licking his face as he got closer to her. Booker began to close his eyes as he could almost feel her breath against his.

Right as their lips were about to touch, Booker's eyes shot open. What was he doing? She was his client! He was getting much to emotionally attached to this case. This was unprofessional, what was he thinking? He couldn't go through with it.

Booker pulled back, surprising Elizabeth. He looked into her disappointed eyes and told her softly, "I'm sorry, but… I can't. You're my client, and I can't get too emotionally involved with this case."

"Oh," she said sadly, looking down, "I'm… I'm sorry Mr. Dewitt…"

It killed Booker inside to see Elizabeth sad. All he wanted to do was reach out and comfort her, put his arms around her and never let go. But his job kept him from it. He told himself that it was better this way. She deserved much more than him.

The waiter brought the receipt and Booker paid for the meal. After he finished paying, the two got up and began silently walking back towards Elizabeth's apartment.

Booker looked over to Elizabeth, who was holding her arm and looking down at the sidewalk as she walked next to him. It was getting dark, so Booker continued to keep an eye on her. New York City was not a friendly place for a young woman at night. As he watched Elizabeth, he saw her head suddenly perk up, and a smile grace her face. Before he could stop her, she ran up ahead of him.

"Elizabeth!" Booker called out as he chased after her, "Elizabeth wait up!"

He followed her through the night, until they came across a shop called Yao's Craft Shop. Elizabeth ran inside with Booker on her heels.

The bell on the door rang as the two entered the old musky shop. Booker scrunched his nose as the smell hit him. Elizabeth didn't seem to notice as she ran up to the front desk, where a white man in a bowler hat stood, talking on the phone.

Booker walked over to her and saw her looking one of the shelves. Elizabeth suddenly turned around, holding two oval pins and asked Booker, "What do you think? Which one should I get?"

Booker looked at the two pins and examined them. One had a white dove painted on it, the other had a golden cage.

"Well," Elizabeth asked again, "What do you think? The bird is so freeing, but there's just something comforting about the cage. I can't decide!"

"The bird," Booker answered, since the spirit of the bird seemed to fit her more.

Elizabeth nodded and pinned the oval pendant on her choker. She spun around daintily and then posed, brushing her hair behind her ears.

Booker smiled and walked over to the counter to pay for her pin. The man was still on the phone, but Booker needed to get Elizabeth home soon. He tapped the counter and said, "Hey buddy, I'd like to buy that bird pin."

"Yes, hold on please," the man told him, and then turning back to his phone, talked into it in a low voice, "Yeah. The Songbird's here. How should I… proceed? Yeah? Of course…"

Booker heard the doorbell ring as three men walked into the shop. He had a bad feeling about this. Something wasn't right. Elizabeth looked at him nervously, and then back to the man behind the front desk. Booker decided that they needed to leave, fast. As he was looking around the shop, he noticed a small black pendant on a small display resting on the shelf. The pendent had a jet black crow on it, the bird's eyes crimson red.

"Hey, can we please just buy this?" Booker asked loudly, slamming his hand down on the counter, "We're kind of in a rush!"

The man pulled the phone away from his ear and responded in a polite tone of voice, "Of course sir, I'll be right with you in a SECOND!"

Before Booker could respond, the man pulled out a knife and slammed the blade through the back of his hand, pinning it to the counter. Booker cried out in pain as blood poured out of his hand, the handle of the knife sticking out of it. He then heard Elizabeth scream and turned around to see two of the men trying to grab her by the wrist. Not on his watch.

Booker grabbed the knife by the handle and yanked it out of his hand. He whirled around, pulling his revolver from its holster, inside his jacket. Booker fired off three shots, each finding their mark and hitting the three men right in the head. Their craniums exploded in a gory spectacle, painting the shop with blood. When Elizabeth saw this, she suddenly went silent. She looked up at Booker, who's hands were covered in blood, with fear in her eyes.

"Elizabeth I-"

"Elizabeth, wait!" He called to her, cursing himself for scaring her off

"No, stay away from me!" she yelled back to him, picking up speed

"Elizabeth please!"

Too late, she had already run inside her apartment. Booker pushed through the door and followed her up to her room, where he heard her crying behind the door. He slammed his fist on the door, not caring how much it hurt, and yelled, "Elizabeth, come on! Open up!"

No answer. Booker tried the door handle and found that she hadn't locked it. He opened it gently and found Elizabeth sitting at a small round table crying into her hands. She looked up when she heard the door creak and gasped. Booker tried to approach her, but she pushed him back.

"Elizabeth can we please talk?"

"You… you killed those people…" she told him with tear filled eyes, "You're a monster!"

"What do you think they would have done if I hadn't!" Booker snapped, grabbing her wrist and forcing her to look him in the eyes.

Elizabeth suddenly went quiet, as she looked at Booker in utter horror. Booker looked at his bloodied hands gripping Elizabeth's tiny wrists. What was he doing?

Booker let go and then told her gently, "I don't know what they want with you, but if they are willing to go to such great lengths to get their hands on you, do you think they'd let you go without a fight?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth whimpered

"This is bigger then I thought," Booker told her as he sat down, "It seems that the Court of Ravens may want something from you."

"But why me! What have I ever done to them?" Elizabeth yelled

Booker cupped her chin with his uninjured hand, accidently dabbing a little blood on her face, and responded, "I swear, they will not get to you. Those monsters will not hurt you, not while I'm still alive and breathing."

Elizabeth gazed up at him, fear filling her eyes. Booker felt terrible for this poor young woman. She was the closest to an angel he had ever met, and yet she was trapped in some situation even she didn't understand. Elizabeth didn't deserve this.

"Let me see your hand."

Booker didn't know what she planned to do, but he put his large hand into her tiny palm anyways. Elizabeth examined the wound, and then put his hand carefully on the counter. She ran over to her kitchen and grabbed a clean rag, a needle, some thread, and some water. Booker watched as she set all her supplies on the table and held up his hand again.

"I don't have pain killers, so this… this is going to hurt," she told him, her voice full of concern.

Booker nodded, allowing her to continue with the procedure. Elizabeth used the water to wash out his wound. She then cleaned the needle, and then carefully began to sew his hand up. As she looped through his skin, making sure to make each puncture the perfect distance from the wound, Booker winced in pain. After ten minutes of stitching in silence, Elizabeth finished up. She held Booker's hand up and looked at her handiwork for a bit, and then wrapped his hand in the rag.

Once she was done, Booker held his hand up and turned it back and forth, examining her patch up.

"Where did you learn this?" Booker asked her

Elizabeth gave him a faint smile and answered, "Remember how I said that back on the farm, I had a lot of free time? This is one of the things I taught myself."

"Well aren't you full of surprises," Booker chuckled as he rested his hand on the table.

Elizabeth nodded and told him, "Just make sure to stay off of it for a while. I know how much you like getting in fights, but please refrain from punching with that hand."

"I can't guarantee that."

Booker watched Elizabeth as she went silent, looking down at the floor and biting her lip nervously. What was wrong? Other then the fact that she had just seen three people get shot, of course. But he knew that look. She was holding something back. She knew something, but didn't want to tell him.

"Are you alright Elizabeth," he asked in a concerned tone of voice

"Yeah," she responded, "it's just… Booker, if you want, you can jump off this case."  
"What?!" Booker exclaimed, almost falling off his chair

Elizabeth quickly said to him, "It's not that you're not doing your job! It's that… that I don't want you getting hurt because of me. I'll pay you whatever your original fee is, plus more. I mean I just don't want you to, well it's tha-"

"Hey, hey Elizabeth, I don't want to leave this case," Booker reassured her, taking her hands into his

Elizabeth sighed in relief, relaxing her tense shoulders just a bit. The two sat back in their chairs and just began taking in the silence. Booker gritted his teeth, trying not to acknowledge the agony his hand was still in. He felt it throbbing as it bled into the rag Elizabeth had tied around it. It stayed hidden behind his back, though. Booker didn't want to worry Elizabeth; she had been through enough today. She said she was fine, but her body was still visibly shivering, her eyes darting back and forth nervously. Booker wanted to reach out, help her, comfort her, but he knew he couldn't. If he reached out and touched her cheek, laid his hand on her shoulder, he would only get blood on her beautiful white dress. He would have to keep the crimson liquid to himself, hide it behind his back, and soak it up with his jacket so that her floors would stay clean.

"Booker, would you like to stay for the night?" Elizabeth asked, breaking the silence as she stood from her chair began to put her medical supplies away.

Booker shook his head and answered, "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"It's no problem, really," she told him, "I have another bed, and we can just go to church together tomorrow."

Booker chuckled to himself. She really was old fashion. "Elizabeth, I don't go to church."

"You don't? Oh, I'm sorry are you not Christian?" she asked embarrassedly, trying to hide her red face from him.

"No, I am, sort of," Booker explained to her, trying to find a way to put his reasons without offending the farm girl, "I just don't really like church. The people are loud, the light shining through those stain glass windows hurts my eyes, and the man leading the whole congregation tells me I'm a monster." Booker knew inside that the man was right, but he never liked to hear it. No one ever wanted to hear the truth. He was part of the masses who enjoyed the shroud of Turin draped in front of their eyes, blocking the view of their real self with something they would much rather see.

"But Booker, don't you want forgiveness for your sins," Elizabeth asked innocently

Booker laughed, "Elizabeth, there is only so much you can forgive. This may not come as a shock to you, but I've killed much more then three people."

"What," Elizabeth gasped

"Before I became a private investigator, I fought in the Battle of Wounded Knee. It might have well been named the Massacre of Wounded Knee, because the Natives couldn't even put up a fight."

"But you fought for your country, I'm sure-"

"Elizabeth," Booker told her, his tone increasingly harsh, "That's not even all I've done. After the war, I joined the Pinkertons, an agency which subdued workers when they grew… restless."

"You were a strike breaker?" Elizabeth asked him, her eyes widening

"You see why I can't hope to step in that chapel? I can't live with myself," Booker told her, slamming his bad hand on the table. He gripped his hand in pain as the oversaturated rag began to drip blood on her mahogany counter. Elizabeth quickly grabbed another rag and replaced the old one carefully.

"I told you to let it rest," Elizabeth scolded lightly as she finished up and put his hand gently back on the table.

"I'm sorry, it's just… well… do you have anything to drink?" Booker asked, now suddenly in need of some rum or whisky.

"Booker, I don't think drinking would be a good idea right now," she responded.

Booker let out a heavy sigh, "Well, if the offer is still open, I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Are you sure it's no trouble?"

"Not at all," Elizabeth told Booker as she walked over to the chair he sat at.

Before he could do anything, she bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Booker rubbed the cheek after she pulled away, as if she had left some sort of mark there.

"Booker, I don't think you're a monster," she said to him with a weak smile, her blue eyes sparkling, "You just need to realize that yourself."

Elizabeth then walked off to her bedroom, leaving Booker alone at the kitchen table. Booker thought on what she had said as he looked at his blood soaked hand. He thought about getting up to wash them, but decided he might as well just do it in the morning. It was late, and he was tired. If anyone deserved a good night's sleep, it was him.

As he lay on the couch, looking up at the ceiling fan, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Even though he had done it before, killing three men was no small deal. Booker knew he could plead defense though. The man at the counter, even though he had gotten away, had tried to kill him, along with the three other men, who tried to capture Elizabeth as well. Everything was going to be fine… Everything was going to be fine…

**A/N: Ohoho, Booker's in trouble now. Killing three men is not a small deal. Hopefully his connections to the pinkertons and the fact that it was self defense will help him, right? Right?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Again, so sorry for late updates. AP exams start next week though, so it may be a while before another chapter comes out. Sorry!**

** CJ: Those were two of my favorite parts of the game. I hope you liked my little remix!**

** IrishRed5: I would hope so too**

** Laengruk: You'll see why they call him Songbird, just you wait...**

** LoneReaper: Booker is trying to keep things professional (emotions can cloud your judgement in cases)**

** ZachN: Yeah, APs suck hard. I've got Bio and English, dear God help me.**

** Cyphr1: Well I'm glad you liked it, keep reading!**

** edboy: Thanks Man!**

** OphisSnake: APs are soooo bad! Sigh, I just have to keep my nose to the grindstone though.**

Chapter Seven: Wanted

When Booker woke up, he saw that the apartment was completely empty. He rubbed his head groggily and sat up from the couch. His hand was still in pain, but it definitely wasn't as bad as last night. He saw that it wasn't bleeding anymore, and that Elizabeth's stitch work had done its job. The hole in his hand was closed and scabbed over, and it would hopefully stay that way. He hadn't noticed it last night, but Elizabeth had used a pink colored string to sew him up. It looked like there was a little worm weaving through the back of his hand.

Booker looked over to the table in front of him and saw a small note on it with his name written in neat cursive. Booker picked it up and unfolded it carefully. It read, "Booker, I've gone to church, but you are welcome to stay as long as you want.

-Elizabeth"

Booker folded the note back up and placed it back where he had found it. As much as he wanted to stay and lie on her couch, he had to go back to his office. The case file needed to be updated, the police had to be tipped off that there was a larger conspiracy at hand, and he needed to prepare for an investigation of the little pendant shop. There was too much to do, and no time to relax. Booker forced himself off the couch with an exaggerated sigh, stretching once he was on his feet.

As quickly as he could, Booker got dressed, hailed a taxi and left for his home, not before leaving Elizabeth a small thank you letter, along with some money to pay for the small breakfast he took from her cupboard. On his way back to his office, Booker thought over last night's events in his head. Something had to link Elizabeth to this "Court of Ravens".

When the cab pulled up in front of his office, though, he saw hundreds of policemen surrounding it. Booker frowned at the crowd surrounding him as they parted to let him into the building. He slowly walked over to the door, eyeing the men carefully. The door creaked as he opened it cautiously and stepped inside.

"Sit down Booker," James immediately greeted in a grave tone of voice

Booker looked at him as if he was insane and asked, "Mind telling me why my office is surrounded by policemen?"

"You are under arrest, Mr. Dewitt, for the alleged murder of three men."

"Murder? It was self defense," Booker spat angrily, "They tried to kill me and take Elizabeth!"

"Self defense? Booker, we have more than two eye witnesses that say you killed those men in cold blood!"

Booker couldn't believe it, those scumbags were trying to frame him, "It's the Court of Ravens, James, they want me dead!"

James shook his head, "Look, Booker, no matter what, you can't blame some underground cult! The bottom line is that three men are dead, and there are numerous civilians willing to testify against you. I'm afraid I know the outcome of this trial before it even begins."

"James, you have to believe me, they tried to kill me! I had no other choice but to shoot!"

"I'm sorry Booker, there's nothing I can do. The city council wants your head on a stake. At this point, I'd just be worried about dodging the death penalty," James told him regretfully, holding out a pair of handcuffs.

Booker's mind raced as he analyzed the situation. There were hundreds of cops blocking the door. They had his office on complete lockdown. It seemed as if there was no way out of this one. He had to escape though. If he were to feel the full force of a corrupt system, then he would get life in prison for sure, possibly even death. He was not about to let that happen.

"So am I" Booker muttered as he held out his hands. Right before James could cuff him, though, Booker balled his hands in a fist and let loose a powerful uppercut, knocking James off his feet. He then sprinted towards the window and dived out, starting his daring getaway.

The police were immediately alerted to his escape when the glass shattered, causing every head to turn towards him.

Booker tore off down the street, with hundreds of policemen chasing after him. He didn't know how long it would be until shots were fired, but he didn't want to test it. It didn't make sense; he had killed in self-defense before, but had never gotten any ramifications from it because of his association with the Pinkertons. Someone was trying to push this trial, twisting evidence to make it seem like he had killed in cold blood. He had to get out of New York, fast.

"Stop Booker, you're only making things worse!" he heard James yelled as one of the police fired at his feet.

Booker quickly turned the corner at the end of the block and opened up the cab. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the driver, who dropped his lunch when he noticed Booker.

"St. Patrick's Church, now!" Booker barked, cocking the gun so the driver knew he meant business.

The driver put the pedal to the metal and sped off towards Booker's destination. Before he left, he needed to make sure Elizabeth was protected, which meant taking her into hiding.

Booker kept his gun trained on the driver's temple as they swerved past pedestrians, carriages, and other cars, leaving the police far behind. Finally, they pulled up in front of the large cathedral, and Booker jumped out of the car.

He could here the organ playing as he holstered the gun and walked up to the church's heavy wooden doors. Taking a deep breath, he pushed them open, revealing an aisle, leading straight to a cross, larger then life. Booker ran down, looking for Elizabeth in the crowd.

As he looked, he heard someone hiss, "Booker? What are you doing?"

He turned around and saw Elizabeth sitting at the end of the aisle. Booker grabbed her wrist and said, "We have to go, now."

"What, why?" Elizabeth asked quietly, standing up with him

"There's no time to explain, come on," Booker said to her, pulling her out of the pew and down the aisle.

Elizabeth's boots clicked as they hurried towards the door, causing heads to turn and give them dirty looks. Being the kind soul she was, Elizabeth smiled guiltily and whispered "Sorry, sorry, don't mind us."

Booker didn't even acknowledge the upset families and seniors who hissed hatefully at him. The police could burst in at any time, and around this many people, he'd have no choice but to surrender. As he went down the isle, there was one man who caught his eye, though. He had slick brown hair and electric blue eyes, along with a suit that probably cost more then Booker would make in his entire life. As the wealthy looking man gave him an unnerving smile, time seemed to slow. Booker suddenly recognized him, and almost gasped in horror. He pulled on Elizabeth even harder, hurrying even faster out of the church.

When the two got outside, Elizabeth slapped Booker's arm and said, "What was that? Booker, you can't just pull me out of the service like that!"

"Elizabeth, I'm being chased by the police," Booker told her as he led her throughout the streets.

"What? But you shot out of self-defense! Plus, doesn't your association with the Pinkertons keep you away from the courts?"

"I thought so, but it seems that the Ravens have strings higher up then I had originally thought," Booker responded, "If someone has more pull in the system then the Pinkertons, that makes them one of the most powerful people in America. We have to get out of New York."

"Leave New York?" gasped Elizabeth, "But, but I-"

"Elizabeth, I promise you, we'll be able to return. But as long as the Court of Ravens is here, you'll never be safe," Booker explained to her softly, trying to get the panicking woman to understand.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, "Alright, I trust you Booker. Where do we need to go?"

"To my father's orphanage," Booker answered, his eyes darting back and forth nervously as he tried to stay inconspicuous.

"Your father's?"

Booker nodded, "He always knows what to do. My dad's been through the worst life has to offer, and has pulled through. He may know a place we can go and wait out the storm."

He knew the address by heart. 321 North Egg, the third building on the right, two blocks away from the old, run down bar Booker used to frequent. The orphanage was as much a home to him as anywhere else. It was almost vacant now, since most of the girls he grew up with had struck out on their own. Only his dad still lived in the empty building, along with the dog the girls had named 'Mr. Bubbles'. But his dad somehow managed to keep it up, pouring all his time and effort into keeping the old place up.

Something about the Little Sister Orphanage kept his father going, as if, for him, it was a new start, another chance. Booker hadn't been to the Orphanage for three years now, though. It was surprising, since back in his darker days, he had spent most his time in the dive of a neighborhood. But, for some reason, whenever he was stumbling around the streets, barely able to stand, he couldn't bring himself to walk inside. It felt like he was desecrating its grounds with his very presence.

Elizabeth grew more uncomfortable as they got closer to North Egg, looking nervously at the homeless men and women that inhabited the streets.

"Booker, did you grow up here?" Elizabeth asked as she held his arm tighter, looking nervously at the drunks and whores eying her.

Booker nodded, pulling her closer, "Yeah, lovely isn't it?"

"It's… got character," Elizabeth answered nervously, trying not to offend Booker.

He saw right through her façade though, and told her with a light chuckle, "Don't worry, I hate it too. If not for my dad, I would have probably ended up living on the streets like these poor fellows."

Elizabeth stopped suddenly, jerking Booker to a stop as well. Booker turned and saw the Little Sister Orphanage looming over them, its shadow blocking out the warm rays of the winter sun. Booker saw that the small wooden sign up front was still in tact, still painted an ugly white, the words still faded. The steps were cracked, but still somewhat welcoming.

Booker and Elizabeth walked up to the peeling green door and gave it a solid knock. For a couple seconds, there was silence, as if no one was coming for the door. But after about a minute, the door creaked open slowly, and an old, but surprisingly healthy, old man peeked from behind it.

"Son," he said in a shocked tone of voice, "It's been so long."

Booker gave him a weak smile and responded guiltily, "Hey dad, I need your help."

"Of course, come on in," Booker's dad told them, opening the door a little wider so they could get in.

When the two stepped inside, an old beagle walked over and began circling them happily. Elizabeth giggled softly and bent down to pet it on the head. The dog rubbed its fur against her hand, loving the attention.

"He likes you," Booker's father chuckled as it barked happily and then trotted back over to its owner.

Elizabeth turned to Booker's dad and gave him a polite curtsy, "Elizabeth Anne Longwood, sir."

"Jack Drew," he responded, holding out his hand friendlily.

Elizabeth took it lightly and shook his hand. Jack smiled and asked his son, "How long have you two been together?"

"We're not together," Booker quickly answered, not noticing Elizabeth's happy face suddenly fall, "She's my client."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jack chuckled in a raspy voice, "So what can I do for you?"

"Dad, we're in trouble. Lots of trouble," Booker told him nervously, not really knowing how he would react to the news.

Jack looked at him curiously and asked, "What did you do?"

Booker explained the situation to him while Elizabeth peeked out the window to make sure no one was coming. As Booker told his story, Jack's face didn't contort with rage, but rather a strange and solemn understanding. It was comforting to Booker that his dad didn't think of him as a soulless beast, even when he told him that he has shot three men dead. It was as if Jack had gone through something similar in his life, where protection deemed it necessary to do unspeakable things. His father's eyes kept darting towards the small white dots on his wrists, scars, Jack had told Booker, from his darker days. Once Booker was finished, Jack stood up and sighed heavily.

"Son, what have you gotten yourself into…"

"Where should we go dad? I know you have some connections out of the city," Booker asked, almost desperately. He had to get Elizabeth out, no matter what.

Jack thought for a bit, and then answered, "Yes, I know someone who may be able to help. She lives quite far away, though."

"Who?" Booker asked hurriedly

"Her name is Rosalind Lutece," Jack told them, "She's a brilliant scientist who knows a lot about some of the darker secrets the world has to offer. If anyone knows about this 'Court of Ravens' it would be her. The only problem is that she lives all the way out in California."

"California," Elizabeth exclaimed, her spirits crushed

Booker began to pace quickly back and forth, trying to think clearly. After going back and forth a couple times, he finally spoke up. "It's ok, it's ok. We'll take a train, head straight west."

"But how will we know where to find her?" Elizabeth asked

Jack walked over to his desk and began rummaging through one of the drawers. He pulled out a small slip of crumpled paper, handing it to Booker. Booker unfolded it and saw it was an address, "8551 Fenton Pkwy, San Diego".

"San Diego it is then," he muttered, stowing the note away in his pocket, "C'mon Elizabeth, we need to catch the earliest train we can."

Elizabeth nodded and then turned to Jack. "Thank you Mr. Drew, you've been so kind to us."

"Don't worry about it sweetheart, just promise me one thing."

Elizabeth nodded politely, "Yes sir, anything."

"Look after Booker," Jack told her, looking wearily at Booker, who had already began strip searching himself for money, not paying attention to their conversation, "He's my only son. While he may be in a dark place, just… just stick with him. He's a good man at heart, a better one then me in fact."

"Don't worry, I'll watch over him," Elizabeth assured Booker's father, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder.

Jack smiled, revealing a fairly friendly, but toothless, smile, "You're a nice girl, hopefully Booker realizes that soon enough."

"I have the money, let's go," Booker interrupted, pulling on his jacket and grabbing a brown hat from one of the drawers.

Elizabeth waved goodbye to Jack as she and Booker made their way outside. Once they got out, Booker popped the collar on his jacket and tipped the hat forward, shadowing his face. Elizabeth couldn't quite understand the new choice in fashion but she decided to go along with it, putting her blue jacket's hood up to help hide herself.

"The next train west bound is in twenty minutes," Booker told her as he looked at a train schedule he had found in his dad's desk, "Unfortunatly, there isn't one running straight to California, so we're going to have to hop trains in Tennessee."

Booker and Elizabeth hurried down the sidewalk, passing inconspicuously by crowds of people. It was immediately apparent that the police had begun a search for him. Cops were lining the streets, watching every passer by with suspicious eyes. Booker just kept his head down and continued walking, making sure not to bring attention to himself. He did the best he could to hide his face as policemen paced back and forth, randomly stopping crowds of people to look for him.

"Booker," Elizabeth hissed quietly in an urgent tone of voice

Booker shrugged her off and responed in a whisper, "Don't use my name or we'll get caught."

"But-"

"Shh!"

Suddenly, Elizabeth grabbed him by the coat and pulled him aside into an ally. She quickly pressed him against the wall and smashed her lips into him, kissing him passionately. The timing and the ferocity of the kiss surprised Booker, but he couldn't help but feel lightheaded. Her lips tasted sweet, but also a little bitter, something he did not expect from her. Booker felt himself slipping as she continued to press her lips against his. As the two kissed, he opened one of his eyes and saw a group of several policemen giving them one disgusted look, and then passing by. Once the cops had gotten a good distance away, Elizabeth let go of Booker, taking a deep breath. Booker just stood there, not sure what to be more surprised about, her quick thinking or how good of a kisser she was.

"I'm sorry Booker, I tried to warn you," she said apologetically.

"No, no it's alright," Booker sputtered out, "let's just get to the station."

Elizabeth nodded obediently and followed him to Grand Central Terminal, the largest, and newly renovated, station in Manhattan. Booker didn't like the idea of going through one of the most popular stations in New York, but the crowds would make blending in easy.

As they reached the bustling terminal, Booker saw droves of people pouring in and out of different trains. Different races, cultures, religions, every last person there believing that they would be the one to make it, that something put them above all others. Something inside them made them believe that they could escape the harsh and cruel jaws of the city. Watching the dreamers from below were the broken ones, men who had come through that same station with stars in their eyes, now chewed up and spit out by society, doomed to watch as others followed their path. They looked up to Booker with sad, broken eyes as they passed by.

He felt a light tap on his shoulder as they approached the main gates. Booker turned towards Elizabeth who nodded nervously towards the entrance. Sure enough, in front of the entrance to the boarding area, there was a police checkpoint.

"Shit," Booker breathed in a frustrated tone of voice

"Follow me," whispered Elizabeth as she motioned for him, "I have an idea."

Booker followed her through the crowds off to the side. The two arrived at what looked like an employee entrance with a large, heavy lock on it. Elizabeth bent down and began to examine it as Booker watched curiously. She reached into her hair and pulled out a small hairpin and stuck it inside the keyhole.

"What are you doing?" Booker hissed as he stood by as inconspicuously as he could.

"You're the roguish type, aren't you?" she responded quietly as she worked, "What's it look like… there!"

Elizabeth opened the lock with a quiet click and pulled it off the door handles. She and Booker then slipped inside, unnoticed.

"I didn't know you knew how to lock pick," Booker mused as he shut the door quietly behind them

Elizabeth smiled proudly, "I can do a lot of things that you wouldn't expect."

Booker knew she had picked up certain skills during her time at the farm, but why would she have needed lock picking? He decided to not think too into it as the train slowed to a stop in front of them. People began to board as the doors slid open, handing their tickets in as they got on. Booker and Elizabeth merely put themselves in the middle of a large crowd as they stepped through the sliding door. The two took their seats in the back cabin, where the hundreds of others made it easy to blend in. Booker tipped his hat even further down as they sat and waited for the train to start, not wanting to give himself away now, after all their hard work.

Finally, after a couple minutes, the whistle of the train sounded and the engine began to chug steadily. Elizabeth gripped Booker's arm tightly as they heard the conductor read off the safety rules. Booker held her hand reassuringly and watched out the window, waiting for the train to take them away. He hoped and prayed that nothing would go wrong as the train began to slowly move forward out of the station.

"STOP! STOP THE TRAIN!"

Booker looked out his window and saw James and hundreds of other policemen storming the station, guns at the ready. But it was too late, the train had already picked up too much speed and the conductor had not heard their demands over the sound of the engine. They were off.

**A/N: Cross Country adventure time! I hope you all liked the chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Again, sorry for the slow updates! Hope you all enjoy!**

** : Thanks, that means alot!**

** CJ: Yes, things are not looking good for Booker. Stay tuned!**

** Laengruk: Don't worry, you'll see just how far the Court of Ravens stretches**

** ZAMSPEAR: Will do!**

** edboy: Thanks!**

** LoneReaper: Emotions get in the way, or so Booker thinks. We'll just see**

** IsaacClarke: Yeah, Cali is going to be a lot brighter then the cold and rainy New York City**

** OphisSnake: Yeah, that's me taking *ahem* creative liberties. But, that's what fanfic is for!**

Chapter Eight: On the Road Again

_Case Name: The Brotherhood of the Crow_

_January 22, 1913_

_Client(s): Miss Elizabeth A. Longworth_

_Case Description: It seems the Court of Ravens' talons reach higher than I had originally expected. Through bribery and contortion, they have been able to twist an act of self-defense into cold-hearted murder. Evidence was moved and replaced, setting the scenario to seem like I was drunk and had made a scene in the "victim's" store. When the man had asked me to leave, I supposedly pulled out my revolver and began shooting wildly. While he had managed to escape, I had killed three of his closest friends during my rampage, or at least that's what the papers say. That's not what bothered me, though. The man who stabbed me through the hand had claimed that I had kidnapped his daughter. The charges are stacking against me, and I'm looking at a life in prison, if not death, if I'm captured. The court hasn't won, though. While I'm still alive, and Elizabeth is with me, I still have a chance. I don't know what they want with the girl, though. She hasn't done anything wrong, I can tell. One can see a difference between those who have dipped their hands into the filth of mankind, and those who have kept theirs clean. But, just because she hasn't done anything wrong, that doesn't mean she's entirely innocent. She knows something, something she isn't telling me. It won't be long before it comes out. I just hope it does before the ravens descend on us._

"Booker?"

Booker closed his small black case file and turned towards Elizabeth, who had just woken up. The train was slowing to a stop at a small station that seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere. Booker had no idea where they were, but he was glad they had escaped. He and Elizabeth stood from their seats, along with the rest of the crowd, and filed out of the train, grabbing their small carry-ons as they left. When Booker stepped out of the train, he took a deep breath. It was a strange feeling as clean air rushed into his lungs. He had gotten so used to the smoke and pollution of the city he'd grown up in, he didn't know what a fresh breath felt like. Elizabeth seemed equally appreciative of the better quality air, as a smile crossed her face and her eyes closed ever so slightly.

"We better find out just where the Hell we are," Booker told her as he checked his bag to see if their money and 'supplies' were still inside.

Elizabeth nodded and began to look around the small train station. Booker followed her lead, trying to find some sort of map. As the two looked around, he felt a light tap on his shoulders. When he turned around, he saw a man in a jet-black suit holding a small pamphlet.

"Can I help you?" Booker asked in an unfriendly tone of voice

The man handed him the pamphlet and said, "I can't help but notice you and your friend are a bit disoriented. This is a map that one of the men working on the train was handing out, it should help you."

Booker opened the small pamphlet and saw that they were in Ohio, somewhere he never thought he'd ever be.

"Uhhh, thanks," Booker said to the man uneasily

The mysterious man just tipped his hat and walked out the door of the station. Booker noticed as he walked out, a white bird that had somehow gotten inside the building flapped its wings and flew out as well. He glared suspiciously at where the man had stood, but decided to not worry about it too much. They needed to find a station that could take them directly to California. Unfortunately, only trains further out west would take those long trips.

"Who was that," Elizabeth asked as she walked back over to Booker

"I don't know," Booker answered, folding up the small map and putting it in his pocket, "But apparently this train stopped in Ohio."

"Ohio?" Elizabeth asked, "Wow, I never thought I'd see this place again."

"You've been here?"

Elizabeth nodded, "I passed through on my way to Manhattan, took the railroad from Illinois to here."

"Well if we want to head to California, there's got to be a place in Columbus that can take us west."

Elizabeth took another look at the map and sighed disappointedly, "It says here it'll take us about a day or so to get there, since neither of us owns a car. We could stop a hotel on the way there and stay the night. How much money do we have?"

Booker reached into the bag and pulled out the wad of bills that he'd compiled from the money his father and Colonel Slate had given him. All together, it was enough to buy them a couple nights in a decent hotel, as well as all the train tickets they needed (though if worse came to worse, they could just hop on one of the box cars).

"Enough," Booker answered after putting the money back in the bag and slinging it over his shoulder, "C'mon, we should get moving."

When Booker and Elizabeth stepped outside, they were immediately greeted by a clear blue sky. The sun was shining down in a way Booker had never seen in New York. The towering buildings and smoke had a way of obscuring its rays; so only those who lived higher up in the skyline could feel them. Booker chuckled quietly to himself as he realized why Elizabeth was so happy all the time. Waking up to days like this every day would have an effect on anyone's mood. Elizabeth sighed audibly as the two strolled over to one of the carriages.

"You know, I missed this open feeling," she told him

"Didn't you live in Iowa?" Booker asked

Elizabeth nodded, "But where I come from, the fields are even more open then this."

Even with the couple of small shops that lined the road leading back to civilization, Booker found it hard to imagine any place less inhabited then this.

"We can stop and see your home on the way," Booker told her. He was eager to see her farm, as it sounded like a beautiful strip of land."

Elizabeth's eyes suddenly darted back and forth, though, as she laughed uneasily, "N-no it's fine Booker, Fairfield is pretty out of our way. I'm sure we can visit once we get this all cleared up."

Booker gave her a suspicious look and said, "Alright, whatever you say…"

"Good sir, young lady, will you be joining us?" called the coach of the large wagon

Booker turned to him and nodded. He helped Elizabeth up into the wagon, and then stepped inside himself. Sitting next to them was a husband and wife with a crying baby, an old man with a large white, scraggily beard, and a large man with a teenage girl that seemed to be his daughter. Elizabeth sat down next to Booker with an optimistic smile, as he simply brooded, looking down at the uneven planks that made up the cart as it lurched to a start.

The road was fairly bumpy, but bearable as the group of people inside the wagon sat in an awkward silence. Everyone kept to themselves, suspiciously eying one another as if any minute they would try and steal everything they owned. The only one who didn't seem to feel uneasy at all was Elizabeth, who looked rather confused as to why no one was talking. Deciding to take things into her own hands, she turned to the young couple and asked, "So, where are you three heading?"

The woman holding her child answered uneasily, "We're going to visit my parents in Nevada."

"Are you taking the railway from Columbus as well?"

The husband nodded, "It's stretches pretty far out west and it's cheap enough so that we can afford it."

"I hear that," the old man coughed happily, "I'm heading out to California myself. It's the last place I wanna see in this country before I kick the bucket."

"Oh," Elizabeth said, not really knowing how to respond to the old man's morbid statement, "well I'm… happy for you…"

The man laughed, and told her, "It's alright, I've lived a good long life anyways. But enough about me, where are you and your friend headed?"

"Oh well we're-"

Booker cut her off and told the old man sharply, "That's none of your concern."

Elizabeth gave him a glare and then turned back to the old man, "Sorry sir, he's not in the best mood right now."

The old guy shrugged it off, "no worries, we all have bad days. Anyways, I'm curious about the walking behemoth sitting next to me."

Everyone turned to the large man sitting with his daughter. The man eyed them with a confused look, but didn't say a word. The teenage girl sitting next to him spoke up in a British accent, "My father is mute."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elizabeth said apologetically

The girl chuckled, "It's quite alright. We're both heading to California as well. Father here is going to be diving for a new underwater exploration initiative that just started."

The man grunted, which everyone assumed meant he was happy about his new job.

"By the way, my name is Eleanor," the teen told them, "and my father's name is John."

"It's nice to meet you Eleanor, my name's Elizabeth," she responded happily

Booker rolled his eyes. If Elizabeth was going to start giving their names away to every stranger they came across, this trip would quickly become much more difficult.

"Whose your friend?" the husband asked as he took the baby from his wife's arm and began to cradle it.

Again, everyone looked at Booker, who stayed unwilling to talk. This earned him a glare from the young couple, as well as from Elizabeth, who was starting to become irritated with his blatant unwillingness to play nice.

Deciding he had no other choice now, he grumbled in a barely audible voice, "Booker."

"Booker?" the old man mused, scratching his head, "haven't I heard that name before…"

Great, Booker thought, now they were in for it. He began to slowly reach for his holster, but felt Elizabeth's petite hand grab his before he could grip his revolver.

"Ah, yes," the old man exclaimed, "did you work for an Italian named Antonio? Runs a restaurant in New Jersey?"

Booker sighed in relief and let go of his gun, "no, I think you've got the wrong person."

The group then went around and continued to introduce themselves. The old man's name was Fitz. He was born in South Carolina and worked on a farm for most his life. Every year his town had a country fair, where men from all over would come and set up stands, proudly representing their states. None of the displays would interest him, as he found their signs and written information difficult to read. Though, every thing changed when he met a charismatic salesman, who had traveled around America collecting little trinkets and souvenirs. He would tell Fitz about all the different places he had seen, and how incredible they were. Fitz told them his favorite story was about the great waters of California. The salesman had told him about the beautiful beaches, the dogs with flippers that would bark at you as you passed by, and the large fishes with sea monsters with razor sharp teeth and eyes black as night. So at the ripe young age of fifteen, he left his home and began traveling the U.S.A, trying to see and experience all the stories the salesman had once told him.

Booker almost laughed when Fitz finished his story. The old man was too stupid to realize that half of the salesman's stories were lies and exaggerations. Just the thought of sea monsters in California was preposterous. Booker had thought before that Elizabeth was the most naive and idealistic person he had ever met, but this old man definitely beat her to the punch.

Next was the married couple, who up until recently had been careful with withholding their information. Booker didn't blame them; he didn't trust a damn person in that cart, except for maybe Elizabeth. But, it seemed that after giving away one name, they had been lulled into a false sense of security that he could only call foolish.

The husband's name was Quinton and his wife's name was Alison, but apparently everyone she new called her Ally. The two had just been married in Jersey, but unfortunately found that Trenton was not the best place to raise their child, Sammy. So they decided to move out to Quinton's parents' old home in Nevada, where they could have a quiet and ultimately safe life style.

"So how about you two, where are y'all from?" Fitz asked them

Elizabeth looked over to Booker for approval, but he merely shook his head. She sighed in disappointment and said to them, "We're just visiting a friend in California, that's all."

Booker groaned, Elizabeth was good at a lot of things, but she was a terrible lier. Every time she didn't tell the truth, her eyes shifted and she bit her lip softly, as if her mouth rejected such words. So the whole group knew they were lying, but it didn't seem to matter to them. They were all too caught up with their own reasons for heading west.

Booker had already decided that he'd stay out west after this was all over. There was nothing left for him back in New York other then debt and broken memories. In a way, this was a new start for himself. Maybe the men he owed debt too would leave him alone if he stayed in California. Even if it didn't have sea monsters or dogs with flippers, he had heard it was quite beautiful. He smiled at the thought of freedom, freedom from debt, duty, and everything else. Elizabeth had already made it abundantly clear that she planned on paying him a very generous amount. He would buy a small place near the beach and relax for the time he had left. He would do penance for his sins, he would isolate himself with his thoughts, living not in pleasant, but in bearable bliss.

As midnight fell upon them and the cart drew closer to Columbus, Booker noticed Elizabeth was beginning to drift off to sleep, leaning her head ever so slightly on his shoulder. Booker smiled and brushed her hair behind her ear as she dozed off, watching over her carefully.

"Hey Booker,"

Booker looked up and saw Fitz, who seemed to be the only one awake, other then him.

"What?" Booker responded in a hostile tone of voice, eyeing the old man suspiciously.

"I know your type," Fitz told him with a serious look molded on his face, "You're the type that shuns everyone and everything, that refuses to see the good side of the world. I've seen enough of 'em during my travels, heck for a little while I was one of 'em. What are you, a soldier, an ex convict, or a man who's just down on his luck?"

Booker gave him an annoyed glare and snarled, "What's your point?"

"My point is you brooders aren't too hard to find. On every corner of every street there's a man or woman who's seen the worst life has to offer. But that girl you got with you, she's one of a kind, the kind of person you ain't never see. She's the type of person who can find hope in everything. I imagine that's why she's so intrigued with you. Don't ruin that hope. And if you want my advice-"

"I don't," Booker interrupted, glaring at the old man who was so willing to chastise him.

Fitz rolled his eyes and then continued, "If you want my advice, I'd follow her example. Life's only so long kid, you can't spend it feeling bad about things that can't be changed."

Booker didn't say a word, rather looked over to Elizabeth, who was breathing softly in her sleep. In all truth, he knew the man was right. But there were things that he'd done, things he couldn't look past. Fitz had asked him if he was a soldier, an ex convict, or a man who's down on his luck. He was all three. But as he looked to Elizabeth, he realized how lucky he was that he had met her. While he may be wanted for murder, Booker had never had someone care for him the way she did, even though he rejected it and tried to push her away. Then, Booker came to a sudden realization. This was his penance. Guiding this angel across this moral wasteland of a country was God's way of giving him a second chance. Protect the girl, and wipe away his sins, that was the deal.

**A/N: What did you all think of the new characters? LIke? Dislike? Hope you all enjoyed the new chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: FINALLY, APs ARE OVER! unfortunately, I still do have things to work on during the last couple weeks of school, but updates will come more often! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, remember to leave a review. And to all of those who just took the new AP bio exam, I feel your pain.**

** spinhina: ERMAGERD I KNER**

** CJ: Don't worry, Eleanor and Johnny will be staying with us for a while**

** Selarom: Here you go then!**

** IrishRed: I'm glad you did. By the way, what does Irish Red mean? Is that based off of something, or did you just make it up on the spot like I did with my name. Just curious.**

** LoneReaper: Yep, that was Eleanor and Delta**

** Kayce: Well, here's that more you wanted**

** Alyx: I'm glad you like the story so much**

** IsaacClark: Well, you know what they say, opposites attract.**

Chapter Nine: Red Eyes

When wagon rolled up to the hotel in Columbus, it was almost midnight. Booker awoke suddenly as it stopped shortly and looked out the entrance flap. The inn they were staying at was fairly nice. It wasn't the best money could buy, but it looked homey enough to stay in for one night. Booker poked Elizabeth in the shoulder, waking her up as well. The girl stretched and yawned gracefully, rubbing her eyes.

"Are we there?"

"Yeah," Booker answered, "Let's get going."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, standing up next to Booker. He opened the flap for her so she could leave the wagon, and then followed suit. Before he left the flap, he looked back and saw that the rest of the group they traveled with was still asleep. If they stayed in the wagon, they would most certainly miss their stop. He sighed in exasperation, feeling as if he'd somehow regret waking them up, and called, "We're here."

The couple's eyes immediately fluttered open and a loud snort came from Fitz, who had drool all over his shirt. Johnny and Eleanor woke up as well, but more slowly and calmly. Booker rolled his eyes and followed Elizabeth out of the wagon and over towards the hotel, with the travel group behind him. Outside the hotel doors was a man, who was waiting to greet them with a smile. When he spotted the group, he ran over. The greeter held out his hand, which Booker reluctantly took. After a hard shake, he said, "Welcome to the Varne Hotel!"

"Varne Hotel?" Booker asked, commenting on the strange name

The man chuckled, "ah yes, the Varne Hotel was named after the people who are in current ownership of it, the Varne family."

"Varne family… Varne family… Where have I heard that name before?" Elizabeth wondered

"You may have seen another one of our locations. We have another hotel in New York City."

"How did you know we came from Manhattan," Booker questioned suspiciously

The greeter laughed nervously, but managed to gather himself, "Lucky guess good sir. Lots of folks comin' from New York City these days."

"We came from New York ourselves," Eleanor butted in as she and her father walked inside the hotel.

Booker just glared at the man accusingly as he took his room keys and grabbed Elizabeth by the wrist, pulling her inside.

"I don't trust him," he told her as they walked down to their room

Elizabeth laughed quietly and responded in a snarky tone of voice, "There's a surprise."

"I'm serious Elizabeth," Booker said to her, "we have to be more careful. We can't keep telling everyone we meet who we are and where we're going."

"Booker, I think you're over reacting. The people on that wagon were very nice. I seriously doubt they're working for the ravens."

Booker slammed the door behind them and yelled, "You don't understand! You've lived on your sheltered farm your whole life, with a beautiful shroud obscuring your view of the real world! The fact is, you can't trust anyone but yourself, because people are selfish and greedy and no matter what, in the end they'll sell you out for their own gain! The only person you truly know is yourself. The only hands you can trust are your own."

Elizabeth glared at Booker, her face seething with anger, "So you think I'm greedy and selfish? You think I would sell you out?"

"No, Elizabeth I-"

"No," she snapped at him, "You listen to me. Sure, none of us are perfect, but you can't expect us to be! Not everyone is so low and dirty that they would be so easily bought. I'm not, and neither are you!"

"You don't know what I've done…" Booker muttered to himself, looking away from her.

"Booker, what happened to you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice full of concern.

Booker flopped down on a dusty sofa sitting in the middle of the almost empty room and gave her a curious, "What do you mean?"

Elizabeth pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. She crossed her legs, the heel of her boot tapping lightly on her shin, and asked him, "Booker, were you always this mistrusting?"

Booker suddenly laughed, breaking the silent and deathly mood. He laughed like she had told him a good joke, like it was the first one he had ever heard. "Of course I wasn't always like this," he chuckled, wiping tears of sadness or laughter out of his eyes.

"What happened?"

Booker's face suddenly hardened, his eyes becoming as cold as stone. With a dark, but calm voice, he answered, "I grew up."

"You grew up?"

Booker sighed as memories of past battles and mistakes flashed by, men screaming, women crying, and crimson blood saturated fields. He shook as his tear stained thoughts burned through him like a river of molten, bubbling, lava. Elizabeth seemed to disappear as the quiet room faded away, replaced with the howls of painted men. He had been told many reasons, for the country, for freedom, for order, for the American way. But in the end, Booker found that murder was murder, no matter how you said it and how you dressed it. Their blood was no different then the blood of our own.

"Booker?"

He snapped out of his trance and looked back up at Elizabeth's caring face. As he looked into her deep blue eyes, Booker found it hard not to launch himself into her loving arms, to just accept everything she offered. But he knew that she deserved better then him. Fitz was right, she deserved someone who could nurture her optimistic and hopeful attitude. Don't lead her on, he told himself as they looked at each other in silence.

"Well, we better get some rest," Booker told her awkwardly as he laid back on the couch.

Elizabeth nodded and told him softly, "Goodnight Booker."

Booker nodded and leaned his head on the armrest of the sofa. He watched as Elizabeth disappeared in the other room, leaving him to his thoughts. He knew that it wouldn't be much longer until he broke. Elizabeth was just too perfect of a woman not to. Even though Booker knew he had to keep their relationship professional, even though he knew he wasn't what she really wanted, or needed for that matter, he couldn't help but think back to how inviting her lips were. Booker couldn't help but remember how great it had felt when she had pushed her mouth against his in the New York ally. How was someone like her not taken? She had it all, beauty, smarts, and spirit. What guy would be stupid enough to turn that down?

Elizabeth filled his head as he dozed off to a light sleep on the musky couch. Unfortunately, Booker did not get the rest he had hoped for at all.

Not one hour later did a strange tapping noise wake him up.

Booker sat up groggily and looked around to try and find where the noise was coming from. When he stood to his feet, the tapping got louder and more rapid, making his heartbeat faster with fear. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he noticed there was a strange silhouette at their window. Booker walked over cautiously, unclipping his revolver from its holster and holding it by his side at the ready.

The tapping got even louder and more profound as he approached the window, as if something was trying to break in. Finally, when he got to the pane, he saw that outside on the windowsill were three crows, all wrapping their beaks on the glass. Booker looked closely and saw that their eyes were blood red, causing him to stumble back quickly.

"Elizabeth!" he yelled, "Wake up!"

Elizabeth immediately ran over to him and sputtered, "What is it?"

Booker pulled out his other revolver as he ran over to their apartment door. How could he have been so stupid? Varne was just an anagram for Raven. This hotel was a trap, one that he had walked right into. The court had tricked him again. "The Court is coming for us!"

He took a couple steps back before kicking down the door, holding his two revolvers at the ready. Outside, waiting for him, were two men with black robes on and coffins strapped to their back, unlike the first assassin he had seen, who had more armored attire along with the large beak mask.

"Booker Dewitt," one of them said to him as they drew out a sword, "You were warned to stay uninvolved."

"Yeah, well that's kind of hard when you frame me for murder," Booker sneered, training his guns on both of them.

The other one drew his sword as well and told Booker with a deep, threatening voice, "You have been sentenced to death by the Court of Ravens. May God have more mercy on you the-"

Before the man could finish, the sound of Booker's pistol reverberated through the hallway. The second assassin dropped dead on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Booker blew on the tip of the barrel and turned towards the other one, "You're next."

The assassin roared in anger as he charged towards Booker. Dewitt fired off three rounds towards the robed aggressor, but not a single one hit. The man burst into a flurry of black feathers as a flock of crows flew around and behind Booker.

"Look out!" he heard Elizabeth scream as he whirled around

The flock of crows was flying right at him, and as they got closer, the crows became more condensed and tighter spaced. Right when the flock was upon him, the assassin shot out from the group of crows, swinging his sword angrily. Booker rolled fell backwards, but managed to fire off the last two bullets in the barrel into the man's chest before the tip of the blade could reach him. The assassin's dead body fell limp on top of Booker, who merely shoved off the bloody corpse and brushed off his vest.

He looked over to Elizabeth, who was leaning up against the wall, eyes wide and breathing heavily. Booker held out his hand to her in a comforting gesture and she took it, feeling somewhat more at ease.

"Let's get out of here," Booker told her as he led Elizabeth through the halls of the hotel. The two could here more assassins searching the building as they tried to escape. Booker tried to keep as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves. Who were these people? How were they so able to find him?

"Booker," Elizabeth suddenly whispered, "What about the others? We can't just leave them."

"Elizabeth, they aren't our responsibility. My job is to protect you, that's it."

Elizabeth pulled her hand away from him and said in a commanding tone of voice, "Booker, I will triple your pay if you protect them."

Booker's jaw almost hit the floor. Elizabeth had already offered thousands of dollars for his help, with triple that amount, he wouldn't have to work another day in his life. He could retire; escape New York City. He could start again.

"Alright, but stay close," Booker told her, as they made their way to where the other people in their travel group were staying.

The first people they searched for were the new family. Elizabeth felt strongly about preserving the life of an infant at all costs. Booker remembered seeing them go into room 108. As they got closer to the young couple's room, they heard crying and screaming.

Booker ran up to the door and looked under it, trying to assess the situation before breaching. He saw a pair of boots right in front of the door, and heard the voice of the assassin yelling, "Where is he?"

He smiled to himself, those idiots made it to easy. Booker pointed his revolver at the door, trying to imagine where the man's head might be. Once he found a good spot, he fired it off, sending the bullet clean through the wooden door. Blood shot out through the hole the bullet had made, followed quickly by a wail. Booker kicked down the door and saw Quinton and Alison tied up, along with their infant son.

"Mr. Dewitt!" Alison cried as he ran over and untied them

Right after Booker finished freeing them, Quinton tackled him with an angry yell. Booker shielded his face as the father began punching him, resisting the urge to fight back. He saw Elizabeth trying to pull Quinton off, but her small frame made it all but impossible.

"You bastard, what did you get my family into!" he yelled at Booker

"Quinton, stop!" Elizabeth pleaded

Quinton shoved her off, causing Elizabeth to fall to the ground. A sudden surge of power went through Booker as he saw her fall over, allowing him to rally himself together. Booker grabbed Quinton by the collar and pushed him off as hard as he could. Quinton stumbled backwards as Booker stood up and held his pistol threateningly.

"You lay another finger on her and I'll put one through your skull," Booker growled, causing Alison to sob even harder.

Elizabeth quickly ran over and grabbed Booker's arm, lowering it before the situation escalated.

"Everybody calm down," Elizabeth told them, holding her arms out as if to restrain both men, "Fighting will get us no where. We need to find the others and get out."

"Consider the others found," a voice called to them

The four turned around and saw Eleanor standing in front of them, with Johnny and Fitz behind her. Fitz seemed to be trembling in terror, his eyes darting back and forth. Johnny didn't look like he felt too strongly about the situation at all, his eyes cold and unreadable. Booker then noticed a coating of blood on Johnny's hands, along with what looked like a butcher knife. The blade of the square cutlery was soaked red as well, dripping the ghastly liquid on the hard wood below him.

"We have to get out of here," Fitz told them in a terrified tone of voice

Booker nodded in agreement and addressed the group, "I will help you all get out of this hotel and over to the train station. After that, you're all on your own."

"Wait, that's not fair!" Alison yelled, "You were the one who brought them here! Now, it's your responsibility to protect us until we get a safe distance away from this insanity."

Booker sighed in annoyance and looked over to Elizabeth, who was crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the ground impatiently. "Alright, I will guide you all home. But that's it. After you all get to your destinations, I'm not longer in debt to any of you. Do you hear me, after that I owe you nothing!"

One could say Booker had a problem with debt. Whether it was financial or moral debt, he hated the thought of having someone practically own him. He was a slave to no one. That's why when he was forced into protecting a group of strangers he was already not too fond of, Booker felt like he was going to burst. He was now in debt to the Pinkertons, the mafia, and these people, things couldn't get much worse.

"Follow me," barked Booker as he led them outside, gripping his revolvers tightly, his knuckles whitening as his fingers wringed the grip.

Everyone huddled behind him, except for the towering, silent behemoth and his daughter, who stood bravely next to him. The girl pulled out a large, thin knife she had been concealing. They began to make their way silently towards the exit of the hotel, their breaths short and silent. As they walked down the seemingly growing hallways, the wrapping on the windows began growing louder and louder. Alison had to forcibly cover her mouth to keep herself from screaming out in terror. Booker himself was sweating, for it seemed as if his life had become a horror story.

Suddenly, the sickening sound of cracking glass began to fill the air, as they got closer to the double doors where they had entered. They saw more and more crows pecking at the windows as small lines crept out from the corners of the glass. Booker brought his gun up readily, jumping his aim from bird to bird, trying to figure out what to do once they broke through.

"Booker Dewitt!" called a loud voice

Suddenly, two of the windows burst open and hundreds of crows began to stream through like a roaring river of black feathers and sharp beaks. The flocks of crows began to circle around each other in three tight packs, until more cloaked men with coffins chained to their backs emerged from the flood of crows. Then, from the largest flock walked out the very same assassin that had killed the governor, wearing the same leather armor and mask he had worn before. Two crows flew down, perching on each of the assassin's shoulders.

"The court commends you," he spoke, drawing two silver knives with crow heads engraved on the blunt end, "no one has evaded the court for this long."

"Stay back," Booker barked angrily, firing a warning shot, "Just give me a reason, ONE REASON! I pray to God you do."

"I haven't come to fight you songbird," the assassin told him, waving his hand to the others. The three cloaked men accompanying him knelt down and drove their swords into the floor. They began muttering some sort of prayer as their leader approached him with open arms.

"Who are you, and what do you want," Booker demanded, not daring to lower his gun

"Funny."

"What's funny?"

"Funny that you'd ask someone wearing a mask who they are."

Booker fired another warning shot, "What do you want with us!"

"Mr. Dewitt, you stand before the lamb of God and her destiny."

Booker looked over to Elizabeth, who was just as confused as he was. The cloaked followers began to stand to their feet and walk forward menacingly, swords held at the ready. Booker yelled over to the leading assassin, "What do you mean, lamb of God?"

"You may want to know who you're fighting for before you blindly throw yourself into this war."

Without another word, the man exploded into a flock of crows. The large black crows flew out through the broken windows, leaving them with the two remaining cloaked assassins. The killers let loose a bloodcurdling holler and charged towards them, swords swinging madly.

Booker fired two shots at one of them, managing to hit the assassin in the chest, causing him to fall over and cry out in pain. The second hit man charged towards Eleanor who backed up and screamed loudly. But, before he could lay a finger on the girl, Booker heard Johnny roar out in anger and grab the assassin by his collar. He watched in horror as Johnny held up the assassin, not even fazed by the crows pecking furiously at him, and swing the square knife into the man's throat. Johnny then threw the man on the ground and stepped on his head with his large, heavy, combat boots, bruising and breaking the already dead killer.

"Talk about protective father," Booker whispered to himself. Johnny was officially added to the list of people he did NOT want to mess with.

"Lets get going before he comes back," Elizabeth yelled to the group as they sprinted out the door towards the wagon, which was parked in front, the horse still alive and well.

Booker jumped on top of one of the stallions and motioned for the six others to jump in the wagon. Once everyone was in, he whipped the rains, causing the horse to let out a whinny and begin galloping away from the trashed hotel. Booker felt the wind in his hair as the horse tore through the streets at surprising speeds, dragging the cart behind it. They needed to get to the station and stay hidden. If the Ravens were able to find him, then the law would not be far behind.

"Booker!" he heard Elizabeth yell from the back of the wagon. Booker looked back and saw a black horse with glowing red eyes following him, crows swirling around it furiously. He growled in annoyance as he pulled out his revolver and realized it was empty.

"Does anyone have a gun?" he called back to the group, taking a sharp turn as he did, nearly tipping the wagon.

"Why would we have a gun? You people are crazy?" Quinton yelled back to him angrily

Damnit, Booker thought, he needed to get creative. He kept checking his pockets with one hand as he steered the horse with the other. Unfortunately, he had nothing with him that was of use, and the crow horse was gaining on them.

"Elizabeth, is there anything we can use?" he asked her

Elizabeth frantically searched the wagon, trying to find something. Finally, she got her hands on what looked like a large monkey wrench. She waved it back and forth in the air to show Booker. He nodded, confirming that it would work, and told her, "Give it to Johnny!"

Elizabeth quickly complied, handing the heavy metal wrench to the large man. Johnny took it and looked it over, as if he was trying to judge its weight in his hand. Finally, he reared back and through it as hard as he could into the flock of crows surrounding the horse. There was a sudden THWAK noise, and the horse suddenly exploded into hundreds of crows, leaving the dead body of a cloaked assassin lying on the road behind them.

Booker sighed with relief and pulled the wagon up near the train station. The group quickly unloaded and ran over to the closest ally, leaning against the walls and breathing heavily. Booker took a couple bullets from his belt and reloaded his revolvers. As he did, he heard Alison begin to cry, hugging her baby as tightly as she could and leaning her head against Quinton.

Fitz seemed to be in a completely different world as he shivered violently, his pupils dilated and his breaths short. Eleanor didn't seem to be fazed, but Booker did notice she had a death grip on her father's hand. Booker reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette, then with a shaky hand, lit it. He took a long, full drag and the breathed out what seemed like a column of smoke. His eyes closed as the tingling sensation in the back of his throat relaxed him.

'You're in deep shit now Dewitt,' he thought to himself as he brought the cigarette to his lips once again, 'you're in deep shit now…'

Before he could take a third drag, Elizabeth pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and frowned at him. Booker raised his eyebrows curiously, waiting for a reason why she just took a perfectly good Marlboro from him.

"These things are awful for you Booker, honestly," she scolded him, not in an angry voice, but a sweet and concerned tone.

Booker chuckled as he took it back from her, "Elizabeth, should we really be worrying about my bad habits at the moment?"

She looked down at the ground, embarrassed, and responded "well no…"

"Exactly, I-"

But Quinton, who was still furious about the recent turn of events, interrupted Booker. The father walked straight over to him and punched Booker in the gut, causing him to double over and spit out the cigarette onto the cold stone pavement.

Booker gasped for air as he stood up, fists clenched angrily, he yelled, "What the hell was that for?"

"It was you they wanted!" Quinton barked back at him, trying to take another swing, "It was you they wanted and you deliberately put us all in danger!"

"Listen pal, how was I supposed to know they'd follow me here," Booker said defensively, stepping away from every punch.

"But you brought them anyways, and now they're going to murder us," Alison sobbed, hugging her baby tightly

Booker gritted his teeth as he balled his fists angrily. This is why he didn't talk to strangers. It wasn't his fault that the court was chasing him! He was just trying to help Elizabeth, that's all. Money be damned, these people were not his responsibility.

"C'mon Elizabeth," Booker said, motioning for her to follow him, "We'll jump on the back of one of the box cars and hitch a ride as far west as possible."

"But Booker, we endangered them! We owe it to them!"

Booker growled angrily, "You put me in danger, but you don't see me asking for anything! Do you think I thought I'd be get involved with some sort of ancient and powerful cult when I took the job? No!"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly faltered. Booker felt a terrible jerk in his gut as tears began to well up in her eyes and her pretty cheeks began to redden. "You're right Booker, I did get you involved with this," she apologized, on the verge of crying, "This is all my fault… I'll… I'll go wait for you on the train."

Elizabeth walked off dejectedly, crying silently as she did. Booker immediately regretted raising his voice. He watched her turn the corner towards the motionless train, the heavy rain reducing her form to a mere silhouette as she got further and further away. Booker held out his hand and called, "Elizabeth, wait…"

When Booker turned back around, he saw the rest of the group looking at him, some glaring angrily, some just watching, at a lost of words. He couldn't bear their judging faces. They didn't know anything.

"What?!" Booker barked, lurching forward violently

The group stumbled backwards as Booker breathed heavily. Soon after, they began to file out, following Elizabeth onto the train without a word to Booker. Once they had left, the only one left standing with Booker was Fitz, who seemed to have a look of pity and understanding.

"What do you want old man," Booker grumbled, "stayed to see the rest of the show?"

Fitz just shook his head solemnly, "Kid, you've gotten yourself in trouble with the wrong people."

"How do you know about the Ravens?"

Fitz sighed heavily and said to him, "Their name isn't the Ravens. They're called the Order of Crows, a cult that has been here for decades. What you've run into is their highest sector, the Court of Ravens."

"How do you know this?" Booker asked suspiciously

Fitz looked up to the dark clouds sadly as the rain weighed down his long white beard. "I've been around for a while now, son. I've seen and heard things many people haven't, or aren't supposed to. But that's beside the point. Booker, you may not be responsible for what has happened, but it is still our duty to help one another during times like these. I know you've seen the worst the world has to offer, but I also know you're looking for penance, forgiveness of your sins. This is God calling to you, Booker. I'd answer."

With those final words, Fitz followed the rest of the group to the box carts. Booker stood out in the rain, thinking on what he had just heard. As much as he hated to admit it, the old man was right, again. He had done terrible, terrible things. Helping these people would help him move towards forgiveness, in God's eyes and his own. This was the only way he'd be clean.

**A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Remember to leave a review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Alright, so I forgot to mention that my legit exams start next week. So just letting you all know that updates may be a bit slower still. After that I'm all yours, I swear! Haha, well I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

** Laengruk: Yes, there will be many similarities to their time in the floating city**

** CJ: No, we will see more of the group, don't worry!**

** anon: Thanks for caring man! Yeah, I am getting a little exhausted, but I only have a little bit of time left!**

** edboy: Thanks!**

** LoneReaper: Booker's body count is rather high**

** IrishRed: Haha, that's a good story! Thanks for answering my question.**

** Imaginator: Well Booker's under a lot of stress, so you can't really blame the guy.**

** Isaac: I'm glad you like the chapter! I always feel like those scenes are best in pouring rain.**

** Beary: Well, you'll just have to see!**

** molyspace: I'm happy that you like it so much! I try my best to set a mood with each of my scenes and try to bring emotion into everything I can!**

** Kayce: Thanks, I don't know about my story being like playing the game, but I'm glad you like it!**

Chapter Ten: Box Cars and Small Towns

Booker sat across from the rest, brooding silently. They had managed to sneak onto a mostly empty box cart. His only company at the moment was a couple of large, disgusting rats. The furry critters would occasionally sniff his hand and try to take a bite, but Booker would pull away at the last minute and bat them back. But no matter how many times he hit them away, they would always try again ten minutes. Eventually, Booker got tired of the rats trying to take a chunk out of his finger, so he grabbed the closest one and snapped its neck, and then through it at its compatriots. The rats never bothered him again. Booker would have been happy, but now he had a dead rat bleeding out next to him.

As minutes turned to hours, the dead rat began to emit a noticeable stench. Booker tried to pull the collar of his shirt over his nose to block the fumes, but found that the smell was just too strong. Flies were beginning to gather around the corpse as well, causing even more problems.

"You just had to kill the rat," Quinton grumbled to Booker

Booker shot the man a glare and retorted, "Look buddy, those things were trying to bite my hands off."

"Well we can't just leave it in here, the smell isn't good for the baby," Alison whimpered hesitantly, as if she was trying to hide from the two feuding men.

Booker shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Alright, I'll get rid of it. Johnny, give me a hand?"

The behemoth of a man stood up slowly and followed Booker over to the cart door. Together, the two mustered all their strength and slid it open with an earsplitting rust screech. Wind immediately burst through the opening, whipping Booker's chocolate hair around. Johnny held the door open as Booker picked the bloody, damp corpse by its tail and through it out. The flies immediately followed, not wanting to loose a good food source. Johnny slid the door closed behind them, and then silently sat back down next to Eleanor, who patted him on the back lovingly. Booker walked back to his corner and lay down. At least no one would complain about dead rats.

Booker sighed with relief; the silence was gratifying. No one was complaining, yelling at him, shooting at him, or trying to blow him up. It was just a nice, empty silence. He closed his eyes and tried to enjoy it, but found that something was egging at him. For some reason, something was preventing him from simply relaxing. Booker cracked open one eye and saw Elizabeth sitting with the others, her face buried in her arms and her legs hugged tightly to her chest. He was a sucker. He couldn't stand to see her like this. As much as Booker wanted to reach out and comfort her, he knew that his presence would make her feel worse. He had just completely moved all the blame for their situation on her, so the last person she wanted to see was he.

"You should go for it."

Booker turned his head and saw that Eleanor had taken a seat next to him.

"Sweetheart, the situation's a little complicated," Booker told her dryly

Eleanor frowned at him and responded, "You men are so thick sometimes. Seriously take my word for it she still likes you. She wouldn't be so upset if she didn't."

Booker looked back to Elizabeth, who hadn't moved from her previous position. He sighed audibly. Everything he said or did only seemed to hurt her and her happy demeanor. He didn't want to go even further than he already had. Yet, something about her drew him in, made it so he couldn't leave her. Booker knew he was in too deep, but he had a hard time convincing himself it was a bad thing. What was it about this woman that could do this to him?

"All right, I'll talk to her later, when we can get some alone time," Booker told her, wanting his conversation to be in private.

Eleanor smiled and gave him a wink, "There we go! I'm a great psychiatrist, don't you think?"

He chuckled lightly, "maybe."

"Well I hope everything works out Mr. Dewitt," Eleanor said to him as she ran back over to her father.

Booker laid back down and decided to get some shut eye. He was tired from being chased and fighting off hoards of insane cultists. Something about the rickety rails was comforting. The jingling chains of the train were like a lullaby, helping him drift off into a comfortable sleep. For the first time in a while, Booker got some well-deserved sleep.

A jolting stop awoke Booker as he rolled into one of the storage crates. He stood up and rubbed his head sighing angrily. What the hell was going on, the train wasn't supposed to stop for a while now.

"Johnny," he barked, "what's going on out there?"

Booker sat up and watched Johnny stand up and walk over to the large door. Again, the behemoth slid it open and sunlight immediately cut through the darkness like a knife. Smoke was traveling downwind, but the train was stopped, that could only mean one thing: mechanical failure.

"Damnit," Booker muttered as he stood up and walked over to the opening, "Looks like we'll have to wait for them to fix the train."

"What? But who knows how long that will take?" Alison said in a worried tone of voice.

"Don't worry, the train will sound off the whistle about thirty minutes before it leaves. Plus, a blown engine will take about all day, so we have some time to head into the nearest town and buy supplies."

The group all nodded their heads in agreement, except for Elizabeth, who seemed to be watching their surroundings carefully. Booker decided to ask her about it later, and lead them over to the other passengers, who were unloading from the train to do the same. They followed the crowd down a barely beaten dirt road, which winded through a huge meadow. Booker had to admit; it was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. The breeze caused the grass to move from side to side ever so slightly. Colorful wildflowers dotted the lush field, their aroma carrying in the air and gracing their senses.

"This place…" Elizabeth murmured, still in deep thought, "It's… It's Fairfield! We're right next to my hometown! Oh Booker, can we visit?"

Booker looked at her as if she was insane. Just a few minutes ago she was upset with him, but now she was smiling as if nothing had happened. Either she didn't hold a grudge, which was a likely reason, or being near home assuaged her mood. Booker couldn't deny her after the things he had said to her. So, he smiled back and said, "Sure, we probably have time."

Elizabeth laughed happily and grabbed his arm and pulled him off the path. "Don't worry," she said, "we just have to go cut through this clearing and we'll be there in no time!"

Booker chuckled uncomfortably, as she dragged him off. The rest of the group followed closely behind. Soon, they were in the brush of the small, well-lit forest. Booker had to admit; it looked like Elizabeth knew exactly where they were going. He found this strange, though, because she had told him that her father barely let her leave the house, much less their estate. So why would she know a place like this so well? Something didn't add up. But when Booker looked over to Elizabeth, who had a carefree smile, he couldn't squeeze out an ounce of mistrust. She was too good. She was just too good.

Eventually, they reached the edge of the forest and emerged from the brush. Booker's eyes widened when he saw something even more gorgeous than the meadow. There was a large pool of water, probably being fed from a stream further down. It sparkled in the sun, inviting him into its welcoming ripples.

Elizabeth walked in front of the group in her beautiful blue dress. She first looked over to the water, looking at her reflection for a minute, and then turned back to her compatriots.

"We've all left our homes for a chance of rebirth, a chance to start again," Elizabeth said to them as she stepped in the water, "If any of you would like, I can perform a rebirth baptism. We may be wiped from our sins in the eyes of the lord."

Alison was the first to step forward, holding her child carefully in her arms. "Samuel hasn't been baptized yet. I would like to take this chance to do so."

Elizabeth smiled and held her arms out, ready to receive the child, "then step forward into the pool."

Booker watched as Alison brought Sammy over to Elizabeth and handed over her child. Elizabeth had once told him how she had watched her father baptize children when she was younger. She had picked up the ritual and had even performed it a couple times. And almost no one looked better holding that child than she did.

Once the deals with the Lord had been cut, Elizabeth finished with, "Samuel Hugh Phillips, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

She dipped the baby in the water, only for a moment, and then gently handed it back to Alison. The proud mother smiled, a tear of joy rolling down her cheek, and thanked her. She then brought the child over to its father, who held it close as well. Fitz was the next one to step up to the plate.

"I've got much to atone for," he Elizabeth in a grave tone of voice, "Will you cleanse me?"

Elizabeth smiled welcomingly and put her hand on the back of the old man's neck. She, once again, spoke the words of the holy ritual and then, with Fitz's consent, dunked his head under the water. When she pulled him out, the old man seemed much younger, as if he was a different person.

"Thank you young lady," he said to Elizabeth as he wiped his brow and stepped out of the pool.

Everyone looked over to Johnny and Eleanor next. The two just looked back and forth awkwardly, as if they did not know what to say. Finally, Eleanor cleared her throat and said, "Um, father and I are not Christians. We do not believe in a higher power."

Elizabeth nodded understandingly and then responded, "It does not need to be religious. Believer or not, everyone needs a rebirth sometime in their life."

Eleanor and Johnny seemed to like their answer, so the two walked over and accepted their baptism. During their ceremony, Elizabeth left out the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and instead asked them, "Do you accept your rebirth in the world's eyes as well as your own?"

The two were then dipped into the sparkling water and released, fresh and smiling. All heads then turned to Booker, who looked even more uncomfortable than Eleanor and Johnny.

"Booker, would you like to be cleansed?" Elizabeth asked tentatively

"I think I'll pass," he responded

"Big surprise," Quinton snorted

Booker shot the man a glare and then turned back to Elizabeth, "Alright, I'll humor you."

He walked over to Elizabeth, who smiled happily once he had accepted. Booker stood next to her as she lightly placed her hand on him, sending a small shiver down his spine.

"Are you ready?" Elizabeth asked him quietly before the ceremony

Booker looked down into his reflection and whispered back, "Yeah, yeah I think so."

With that, Elizabeth began reciting the blessing. Booker wasn't hearing her though; he was too consumed with his reflection. It stared back at him like the devil itself, taunting him, mocking him. It was bruised and was riddled with small cuts. Its eyes were murky and undefined and the bristles on its chin were unshaven. Come, accept me, it said, accept me and become whole. Booker closed his eyes and heard the screaming of the natives and the strikers, two victims he had helped slaughter, and for what? Money, a sense of duty towards his country? He had heard the words forgive and forget, but he knew the truth. You can fool yourself into forgiveness, but you can never, _ever_ forget.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father,"

Booker's eyes shot open as the last of her blessing began.

"the Son…"

He looked again down at his terrible, horrible, reflection. It seemed to smile at him in a sinister manner.

"and the Holy Ghost."

He couldn't go through with it. He was not going into that pool. Never was he stepping into the water with that thing.

"NO!" he yelled as Elizabeth tried to dunk him in the water. He shoved her hand off the back of his throat and ran out of the pool as fast as he could. Escape, he had to escape. Booker jumped out of the water and onto dry land, where he backed away from the dreaded pool and caught his breath. Everyone was staring at him again, but this time with a different expression, concern.

"Booker…" Elizabeth said in a scared tone of voice

Booker was panting and sweating violently, his pupils small and his eyes darting back and forth. What had just happened? "I'm fine… Lets… lets just keep moving…"

"You all go up ahead," Elizabeth told the group, "Just follow the path and it should lead you into town. We'll be right behind you."

The group nodded and headed off, eager to leave Elizabeth and Booker behind. Once they were out of sight, Booker dropped to his knees. Elizabeth rushed to his side immediately, grabbing him by the shoulders. Booker didn't know what had just happened. He had freaked out over something that should have been welcome. Was he insane?

"Booker, are you alright?" Elizabeth asked cautiously, holding him closely like a mother would her child.

Booker shivered a bit and asked her shakily, "Elizabeth, what if you looked in the mirror one day and didn't quite like what you saw?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if you found out that all the choices you've made have been all the wrong ones. Then what do you do?"

Booker knew her answer before she answered, though. Like every one of his family members, his friends, and the psychiatrists that have picked over him as if he were a lab rat, she would tell him those two words, the one thing he knew he couldn't do. Move on. Whenever someone told him this, he laughed a bit to himself. Move on. Try telling that to the families of the strikers. Try telling that to the tribes he had slaughtered. Move on. That's all they ever said. Move on. That's all they ever could say.

He looked up to Elizabeth and awaited those two words, anticipating their sting once again. But what he heard instead was, "Try and live with it."

This answer was unexpected. Booker had never once heard anyone answer that question in such a way. Try and live with it, brutal, but true. She hadn't beaten around the bush, she hadn't tried to soften the blow, she told him plain and simple. Elizabeth, out of all people, Booker thought would have tried to make things seem as hopeful as possible, what with her rebirth through baptism belief.

"Booker," she continued, "We cannot change the past. It's an unfortunate fact of life. What's done is done, that is all. But what we can do is change our future, how we choose to approach the days to come. I believe that rebirth is not the erasing of one's path, but the promise of a better future. In the end, though, baptism does not make that decision. The choice is yours and yours alone."

Booker felt as if his eyes had suddenly been open. That single speech she had given him had reached him more than anything he had heard in his life. As Elizabeth's words sunk in, Booker began to stand to his feet, nervously, but a little surer than before.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," he said to her with a gracious nod

Elizabeth gave him that soft, warm, and loving smile she wore so often and answered, "As I said before Booker, I don't think you're a monster. You just want so badly to believe you are."

"Well it's much easier to see a monster as a killer than a decent human being," Booker chuckled as the two began to make their way towards Elizabeth's hometown. As they walked, Booker could have sworn he heard the beating of wings. Instinctively, he looked up to the sky and saw three buzzards circling overhead the pond. He sighed in relief, at least the large birds were not the terrifying omens he was expecting. Elizabeth did not seem to notice, as she was too wrapped up in her own excitement. Booker made sure to remind himself to stay alert, in case the whistle sounded while they were staying with Elizabeth's parents. If they missed the train, they might as well be signing their own death warrant. Staying in one place was dangerous as it is. No doubt the crows had some way of tracking them. It took cult less than one night to find them the first time, and Booker didn't want to push his luck. He had a hunch that the assassins would not strike during broad daylight, which gave him the slightest sense of security. But not much can be comforting when being chased after by a band of all-powerful psychopaths.

After a couple minutes, they came across a small group of wooden structures. Elizabeth smiled and grabbed Booker by the arm. She pointed towards one of the rickety buildings and said to him, "Look, it's Duke's general store!"

"Duke's general store?" Booker repeated questioningly

Elizabeth nodded, "You know, the best candies and drinks in town?"

Booker gave her a funny look, which caused Elizabeth to sigh in disappointment. "oh well, I guess it's a local thing."

Booker was more worried that he could not spot the rest of the group immediately. Where had they gone? He knew that this could present a problem, seeing that Elizabeth probably wouldn't let him leave without them.

"C'mon, let's go find the others," he called, motioning for Elizabeth to follow him

"We should check in the parlor," Elizabeth told him, "They probably went their to get something to eat."

The small restaurant had a strange design to it. It was better lit and livelier than the other businesses around. It was also the only building that didn't look like termites had been eating at it for years. Booker heard his stomach growl, which made Elizabeth giggle.

"Let's go get something to eat," she told him, "then you can meet my folks."

She grabbed Booker by the wrist again and pulled him towards the parlor. As he was being dragged off, he looked behind his shoulder and saw a man in the middle of the town reading a newspaper. He was wearing a black suit and a matching bowling hat, which was strange attire for this area. There was a large white bird perched on the back of the wooden bench. The man suddenly turned his head and gave Booker a smile, tipping his hat politely. Booker realized that it was the same man who had given him the pamphlet when they first left the train. What was he doing here, unless…

Booker shook those thoughts out of his head. He just needed to stay on guard. The crows would not get the drop on him.

**A/N: Who is this mysterious man? Where has the group gone? Is Booker crazy? Find out next time on the Night of Crows!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'M FINISHED WITH EXAMS! FINALLY! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

** Archangel: I like the end of this chapter even better, mwuhahahahaha!**

** BearyBeary: Sometimes insanity can create genius. In the words of Dr. Arkham, "I pity the poor shades confined to the Euclidean prison called sanity"**

** Alyx: Thank you!**

** CJ: You'll see good sir, you will see**

** Armaras: I chose that scene to happen randomly because Elizabeth is trying to get Booker to open up more to God, so she is taking as many chances as she can. Plus, there's an old american ideal about a moving west and rebirth.**

** Imaginator: Elizabeth is very wise, but also pretty innocent. She's an interesting character**

** LoneReaper: Yes, things are going to go down**

** IsaacClarke: So I heard you like cliffhangers...**

** Kayce: It's all good. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

** OphisSnake: Thanks for the wishes of good luck! Lets keep our fingers crossed I did well!**

** MsElementalDawn: Oh, you'll see!**

Chapter Eleven: The Game Changes

Booker couldn't feel anything. How had he let this happen? How had he let his guard down like this? His vision became increasingly red and blurry as he drew short, useless, breaths. Through the smoke and flames he thought he could make out a figure running towards him. As it grew closer, he saw it was Elizabeth, who looked pretty injured, but much better than he probably was. She knelt beside him and held up his head, letting it lay on her lap.

"Booker, oh God, Booker are you alright?"

Booker tried to respond, but found he was all to weak to utter anything. In fact, he found any movement in general pretty much impossible.

"He's dead my lamb,"

Booker tried to look around as best he could, but could not find the source of the voice. He assumed, though, that Elizabeth knew fully well who it was coming from, because the second she heard it, she snapped around and screamed, "You monster! How could you?"

"It is for your own good Elizabeth," the voice answered, "The Songbird holds you back, keeps you from your true purpose. Cain, finish him, would you kindly."

A large shadowy figure emerged from the smoke and pushed Elizabeth aside. As it bent down in front of Booker, he saw the hooked mask of the Crow's lead assassin.

The assassin pulled out a long katana with a jet-black blade and expertly crafted handle. "You put up a good fight Songbird, and thus shall have the honor of being killed by my best blade"

Booker watched helplessly as the assassin raised his blade up to finish his life. This was it. This was how it was going to end. He had lost everything. He had failed Elizabeth. Booker took in one last, painful, breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the killing strike. How had it all gone so wrong?

**_Earlier…_**

Booker and Elizabeth stepped inside the small diner and looked around for their group. He figured they shouldn't be that hard to find, seeing as the people he and Elizabeth were traveling with would most likely stick out. Not many were as large as Johnny and not many were as old as Fitz. As he scanned the crowd he felt Elizabeth tug at the sleeve of his shirt. He turned to her and saw that she was pointing at one of the booths, where, lo and behold, the whole group was sitting along with an old couple.

"That's them over there," Elizabeth told him as she led the way, weaving past the different tables.

Booker followed her closely, glaring threateningly at all those who whistled as Elizabeth passed by.

"Oh, lighten up Booker," Elizabeth whispered to him, noticing his generally broody attitude

"Fine," he answered, "But keep listening for that train whistle. Once we hear that, parents or not, we're leaving."

"All right Mr. Grumpy," Elizabeth giggled as she pulled him onto the seat next to her in the group's booth.

When Fitz saw them sit down he broke into a toothless smile and said, "Booker, Elizabeth, guess who we found?"

Elizabeth turned to the old couple and gasped happily, "Mother, Father!"

The family embraced tightly for a bit, and then broke apart. Elizabeth's father smiled friendlily and offered his hand to Booker, "Zachary Longworth"

Booker politely took his hand and gruffly said back, "Booker DeWitt"

He decided using his real name would be all right, even if her parents had heard of what he was accused of. After all, they wouldn't send their own child to jail, right?

"Elizabeth's other friends tell us that you've been working with our daughter for a while now," Zachary told Booker as he took a sip from his drink, "Do you work in the mayor's office as well?"

"No sir, I'm a private investigator," Booker answered

"Like a detective?" Elizabeth's mom asked

Booker nodded back and responded, "I do detective work along with other enforcement related jobs."

"So what are you two doing all the way out here?" Zachary asked, addressing the elephant in the room.

Booker began to think of a lie to fabricate, if they didn't know what had happened in Manhattan, they didn't need to find out. But before he could say anything, Eleanor spoke up and answered, "The mayor hired Mr. DeWitt to be a bodyguard for my father and I during our trip to California. We're representing an organization that works very close with his office. Elizabeth is coming along because of her position in the financial department so she can oversee the different costs of our trip."

Booker was impressed by how quickly she had come up with that story. Eleanor just gave him a mischievous smirk and turned back to Elizabeth's parents, who seemed to be buying it.

"Well I'm sorry about what happened to your train," Elizabeth's mom said apologetically, "How long do you all think repairs will take?"

"Probably a couple hours, give or take," Quinton answered, "I remember I worked as a train engineer for a little while, and I know from experience that these things take quite a bit of time."

"Oh, then why don't you and your friends come stay with us for a bit," Zachary suggested to Elizabeth

Elizabeth, of course, smiled happily and answered, "We would love to!"

"That's wonderful, our farm is quite close to town, so it should only take five or ten minutes to walk there," Elizabeth's mom exclaimed excitedly, standing from her seat, eager to go back to her farm.

Everyone looked around at each other and shrugged, deciding that a small detour wouldn't hurt. The group got out of their seats and began to follow Elizabeth's parents out of the small restaurant and through the dusty old town. As they walked, Booker couldn't help but feel like everyone was watching them, like they were some how the center of attention. But every time he turned around or looked someone else's way, all he saw was normal behavior, nothing suspicious.

"It's just this cult," he whispered to himself as he tailed the group, "They're just making me paranoid."

Sure enough, after about seven minutes, they arrived on a large, open plot of land. Booker hadn't seen many farms in his life, but he was sure that it was pretty impressive compared to others. Elizabeth had lived a quite privileged childhood. The Longworth's house was enormous, a large white mansion that could put the president's residence to shame. In front of the house were rows and rows of ripe corn and other crops, all healthy and plump. The livestock seemed to be of the highest quality as well. The horses were all large and muscular, and the cows looked like they could be cooked into some of the finest steaks. Fitz whistled audibly, "This is one heck of an estate."

"Yes, we are proud. It's served the Longworth family for generations," Zachary boasted proudly.

Elizabeth nodded, "This house is almost as old as America itself."

Booker was only partly paying attention to the conversation going on. He was mostly focused on one particular feature of the Longworth estate, something that stood out to him for some reason or another. It was a large, lush, green hill that stood proudly. But what really captivated him about this hill was not its perfect shape or deep color, but a lone stump, sitting at the top.

"Booker!"

Booker snapped out his trance and turned to Elizabeth, who was laughing softly, "Sorry father, he gets a bit distracted sometimes."

Zachary chuckled, "Don't worry, I'm sure his military training back in Wounded Knee has brought about such awareness. Must be on your toes in the thick of war, am I right boy?"

Booker looked at Elizabeth's dad suspiciously and said, "I never said I fought in Wounded Knee…"

This statement brought an awkward silence along with it, as Elizabeth gave Booker the evil eye for being so suspicious and Booker watched Zachary with a cautious eye.

"It was a lucky guess son. I know the look of a veteran man because I'm one myself," Zachary told Booker after a couple seconds, "And the only war that someone as young as yourself would have fought in was Wounded Knee."

"Right," Booker responded, still eying Mr. Longworth with suspicion.

Elizabeth cleared her throat to try and break the tension and said nervously, "Well, why don't we all go inside? I'm sure this heat is getting to all of us."

"Of course," Mrs. Longworth said, "Let's all go inside and I'll make us some drinks!"

The group seemed to like the idea, so they all went inside the white mansion, except for Booker and Elizabeth, who told the others they needed to discuss his payment momentarily.

"Must you really be suspicious of my parents?" Elizabeth asked quietly, as to not be overheard by anyone

"I never told anyone in this group but you about my involvement in wounded knee," Booker answered curtly

"So he guessed," Elizabeth said to him, "I know for a fact that my parents are not bad people. Just please, be nice."

"It's not just your parents, it's this whole town. Something feels, off about it," Booker explained, trying to get Elizabeth to understand why he was so cautious

Elizabeth sighed, "Fine, if it makes you feel any more comfortable, we'll only stay for a bit, and then we'll head back."

Booker nodded in agreement and then followed Elizabeth in the house, where the rest of their group was waiting, sitting in a large living room. Quinton and Alison seemed to be tending to their baby while Johnny, Eleanor, and Fitz where all sipping on some cold tea and talking of politics and other things with Elizabeth's parents.

"Ah, Elizabeth, " Zachary called to her, "We were just talking about what would happen now with the governor's recent murder."

"Oh," Elizabeth said as she sat down on one of the open spots, "Well I know that the mayor is at an all time high in terms of popularity. He may end up just running for governor."

"I think he would make a great governor," her mom remarked as she poured herself some more tea, "If his attempt to stop the assassin shows anything, it's bravery. Booker, what do you think?"

Booker thought of the least snappy response he could say, and then once he had decided, answered, "Honestly, I don't think it will make that much of a difference. No matter who's in office, the side of the city that I work with will always be the same."

"Agreed," Fitz added as he took a sip from his tea

Zachary shrugged nonchalantly, "Well it could be that my opinion is a bit biased, seeing as the mayor is an old friend of mine. But what still baffles me is why he has allowed a negro to hold power over his law enforcement (A/N: I'm not racist, but back then a lot of people were. I do not mean to offend anyone.)"

Booker gripped his cup angrily and shot back, "James Roland is a great and honorable man. He is one of the most incredible men I have had the honor of working with."

This comment seemed to catch Elizabeth's parent's attention. "Really, you believe he's doing a good job?"

"I know he's doing a good job," Booker answered, "No one knows the city like he does. Manhattan is lucky to have its safety in the hands of a man as good as him."

"Interesting view…" Zachary mused as he sipped a bit of tea, "But I still would like to see a more… pure office."

"Dad!" Elizabeth exclaimed, a bit affronted by her father's blatant racism

"Oh honey, your father is probably just teasing," her mom chuckled as she took up the tray of empty cups and brought them to the kitchen.

Kidding or not, the rest of the group had surprised looks on their faces, all except for Johnny, who still held that same unfeeling expression.

Booker looked around the room during the awkward silence, trying to find anything he could use to break it. He did not want to go back to politics; for fear that he might end up offending one of the Longworths, as well as Elizabeth. A particular painting caught his eye as he scanned the room. It was a picture of a beautiful and fertile garden with a large tree in the middle. In front of the garden was a pair of heavy golden gates, embellished by various gems and with different figures carved into it. Next to the gate was a brunette woman in a black dress, surrounded by robed figures. She looked like she was placing one hand on the forehead of one of her followers, and using the other to point to the lush garden. It seemed like a viable conversation topic.

"What's that painting of," Booker asked, pointing towards the garden picture.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked," Answered Zachary, "that's a picture of the return to the Garden of Eden."

"Return to the Garden of Eden?" Quinton asked curiously

Zachary nodded, "It's an old legend that I used to love. It speaks of a daughter of Adam and Eve returning to the garden to redeem the rest of mankind, to purge the world of sin just like the flood."

"Interesting, I've never heard of it before," Fitz mused as he walked over to the painting to get a better look.

"Well, it's not the most known legend, but it is one that I do very much enjoy," Zachary told him

Suddenly, the sound of the train whistle rang through the air. Booker stood up, almost relieved to be leaving the small town, and announced, "Alright everybody, it's time to head out."

"Oh," Zachary said in a disappointed tone of voice, "That's a shame you all have to leave so early. Why don't you take one of our horses? It'll help you get to the train faster."

"Oh, we'd love to Daddy," Elizabeth responded graciously, "Thank you very much."

Zachary laughed and gave his daughter a hug, "There's nothing I can't do for my little girl. Say Booker, why don't you grab a couple out of the barn? Pick any one you like, son."

"Thank you Mr. Longworth," Booker said as he made his way out of the house.

When Booker arrived at the barn, he had to stop for a minute just to take it all in. It was the largest barn he had ever seen in his life. It was a simple black barn, standing tall and wide. Booker estimated that it could probably hold dozens of horses. He walked over to the big black barn and pushed on one of its large double doors, letting a small ray of light crack through as he entered.

As the door shut with a _CLINK_ behind him, he noticed something very wrong. First of all, there were not horses in the barn. Second of all, it was almost pitch black, so much so that he couldn't see a foot in front of him. Booker quickly ran back to the barn door and tried to open it, but found it was bolted shut. He continued to slam on it, cursing under his breath. What the hell was going on?

"Do not try and escape, Songbird," a voice called to him from the darkness, "It won't do you any good."

Booker turned around and saw a torch suddenly light up in the darkness, revealing the mask of the assassin that had killed the governor and had led the attack against them back in Columbus.

Booker quickly pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the assassin, who did not flinch in the slightest at the sight of Booker's weapon.

"I warned you not to get involved," the assassin told him as he walked closer to Booker, ignoring the gun that was pointed right at him, "But you did not listen. I take no pleasure in what I do now."

"That's a shame," Booker sneered as he aimed the revolver at the assassin's head, "because I'm gonna take a hell of a lot of pleasure killing you."

The assassin laughed loudly, "You are in no position to threaten me."

"Really, because from where I'm standing, it looks like I'm the one holding a gun," Booker retorted

"Then maybe you should step into the light."

With those final words, the assassin burst into a flock of crows, dropping the torch on the ground and flying out of the window. Booker watched in horror as the ground below the torch immediately caught on fire, revealing dozens of gunpowder barrels around him.

"Shit," he cursed as he frantically looked for a way out. Booker knew the truth, though. The fire was spreading much to quickly for him to escape. The only thing he could do was take cover and hope to God that he survived. Booker hit the floor as quickly as he could before the fire hit the first barrel.

"This is it," he muttered to himself, "Hopefully hell isn't too awful."

It all happened in a split second. The fire reached the first barrel, causing it to burst in a flurry of wood splinters and flame. The first explosion then caused a chain reaction, igniting all the barrels around it. Soon enough, the whole barn erupted like a firecracker, sending Booker tumbling, gouging him with flying pieces of iron and wood. Booker tried to stay awake, tried to stay alive, but was eventually knocked out by the violent explosion of a barrel he was too close to.

When he woke up, Booker couldn't feel anything. How had he let this happen? How had he let his guard down like this? His vision became increasingly red and blurry as he drew short, useless, breaths. Through the smoke and flames he thought he could make out a figure running towards him. As it grew closer, he saw it was Elizabeth, who looked pretty injured, but much better than he probably was. She knelt beside him and held up his head, letting it lay on her lap.

"Booker, oh God, Booker are you alright?"

Booker tried to respond, but found he was all to weak to utter anything. In fact, he found any movement in general pretty much impossible.

"He's dead my lamb,"

Booker tried to look around as best he could, but could not find the source of the voice. He assumed, though, that Elizabeth knew fully well who it was coming from, because the second she heard it, she snapped around and screamed, "You monster! How could you?"

"It is for your own good Elizabeth," the voice answered, "The Songbird holds you back, keeps you from your true purpose. Cain, finish him, would you kindly."

A large shadowy figure emerged from the smoke and pushed Elizabeth aside. As it bent down in front of Booker, he saw the hooked mask of the Crow's lead assassin.

The assassin pulled out a long katana with a jet-black blade and expertly crafted handle. "You put up a good fight Songbird, and thus shall have the honor of being killed by my best blade"

Booker watched helplessly as the assassin raised his blade up to finish his life. This was it. This was how it was going to end. He had lost everything. He had failed Elizabeth. Booker took in one last, painful, breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the killing strike. How had it all gone so wrong?

"WAIT!"

Booker saw Elizabeth run over and grab the assassin's arm, "Don't hurt him, please don't hurt him!"

"Unhand me child," the assassin barked, shrugging her off easily, "Stop fighting against your fate."

"No!" Elizabeth yelled, "I won't stop fighting! I will never cooperate with your plan, I will only fight harder and harder! But, if you let him live, I'll go with you. I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt him!"

The assassin looked off to the side, where Booker saw none other than Elizabeth's parents. They had set him up, how had he not seen this coming? They were in league with the crows all along!

"Fine," Zachary sighed in an annoyed tone of voice, "We will leave him be. Cain, come!"

The assassin nodded obediently to them. He then leaned in close to Booker and whispered in his ear, "Enjoy your last minutes of life. Just know that the death I offered would have been a lot less painful than the one nature has in store for you."

He then stood back up and grabbed Elizabeth by the wrist, dragging her off violently.

Booker couldn't let this happen, but he was too crippled to move. With extreme effort, he managed to call in a raspy voice, "Elizabeth…"

Elizabeth turned around, tears in her eyes, and responded, "I'm sorry Booker. I'm so sorry."

Then, Booker's vision faded into complete and utter silent darkness.

End of Act I

**A/N: Oh snap! Booker kind of got screwed there! I wonder what will happen now? I hope you all enjoyed and are ready for act two!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Curtains open, act II begins... DUM DUM DUUUUUUUUM! I hope you all enjoy, and make sure to READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END! Please, there is something I put together that may actually further the quality of the story!**

** LoneReaper: Yep, the game is about to change ALOT**

** Archangel: Sorry, I didn't really understand your comment. But hopefully it means you liked it!**

** MF71: Things are about to get pretty crazy**

** CJ: Yeah, there wasn't much Booker could do at the time. But he will come back, don't worry...**

** Amaras: Thank you! Hopefully I can keep it up.**

** Imaginator: I chose to have Booker be called Songbird because he's like Elizabeth's protecter. Also, to call Cain the Songbird wouldn't really fit in with the cult. And you'll see what happened to the rest of the group.**

** BearyBeary: Don't worry, Booker's a clever guy**

** IrishRed: Yeah, you can never be too careful with these things. I hope I made it pretty clear that it was not made to offend anyone, but rather to express a different atitude that was, unfortunately, quite prevalent at that time period.**

** spinhina: Yes sir, there is more to come!**

Act II

"Will he make it?"

"For his sake and ours I sure hope he does."

Chapter 12: The Scientist

He could only see in fragments. Ducking in and out of consciousness can do that to someone.

The first time he opened his eyes, Booker saw he was being carried by a man and a woman, both of them talking about something. All he could here was a buzzing noise, probably because the explosions had caused him to go deaf. Sometimes he could pick up on snippets of their conversation, such as:

"Why didn't you act sooner…"

"Too many of them… God forsaken town… Grand Raven."

"… the key…"

Key, that was the last word he heard before falling unconscious again.

The second time he awoke, he was looking up at a red haired woman, and a brunette girl, whom he soon realized to be Eleanor. The red head seemed to be holding some sort of syringe filled with red liquid.

"He's awake," barked the red haired woman, "be a dear and sedate him."

Before Booker could croak a word of protest, Eleanor pricked him in the arm with a needle and injected him with whatever was inside. Booker immediately felt himself become drowsy, falling back into a deep state of unconsciousness.

The third and final time Booker woke was after a large shock of electricity was sent through his body. He screamed out in pain and bolted upright, breathing heavily. When Booker looked around, he saw that he was on a surgical table surrounded by shady looking equipment.

"Who are you, where am I?" Booker demanded loudly, instinctively reaching for where his holster once was.

The red head turned around and smiled wickedly, "Ah, look whose back in the land of the living."

"You still haven't answered my question."

The red headed woman sighed and answered, "If you insist. My name is Rosalind Lutece, but you shall address me as Dr. Lutece. To answer your second question, you're in a safe house that I designed for just such an occasion."

"Lutece?" Booker thought out loud, "You mean the scientist my Dad told me to find?"

"I'd assume so, seeing as I'm one of the only ones who knows anything about your particular predicament. And I must say you are an impressive specimen Mr. DeWitt, much like your father."

"Impressive specimen," Booker asked, "What are you talking about? What did you do to me?!"

"To put it simply, I saved your life," Rosalind answered, standing from her chair and approaching Booker.

Booker looked at himself, but couldn't find anything noticeably different, "What do you mean?"

"Hold out your hand DeWitt," Rosalind commanded as she began rummaging through a bag that was sitting on a stand next to the table. Without thinking, Booker followed her orders, holding out his hand readily. Suddenly, Rosalind pulled Booker's own revolver out from the bag and shot him in the hand with a earsplitting _BANG_!

Booker reeled backwards in pain, falling of the table while clutching his hand.

"What the hell was that!" he screamed as he gripped his bleeding hand

"Just look at it," the scientist answered nonchalantly, as if it was already something he should have thought of. When Booker looked down at his hand, he gasped in shock. Already the bullet hole that was once there had mended and healed, leaving not so much as a scar. Booker moved his hand and found that it was completely painless, as if he had never been shot in the first place.

"My God…"

"Yes," Rosalind said with a wide smile, "Impressive isn't it? It's a drug that I concocted to cause accelerated healing, and this is the best part; you're the only one who's lived through the procedure! Incredible how open your DNA is to modification, the perfect set of genes in my opinion."

"This is incredible," Booker mused as he stood to his feet. He knew that he should have died from that explosion, or at least been crippled for life. But this healing drug, it was unlike anything he had ever heard of. "And I was completely compatible?"

Rosalind nodded, "All accept for that one adverse effect, yeah."

"Adverse effect?" Booker asked nervously

Rosalind chuckled crazily and responded, "Oh right, I forgot to tell you! The drug took a little bit to integrate with your system, so it caused you to go catatonic for a whole month."

"A MONTH!" Booker exclaimed, almost falling over again, "I've been out for a month?!"

"Better in a coma for a bit than dead is what I always say," Rosalind answered unnaturally cheerily, "Or at least that's what I tell my attorney"

Booker sat back down and buried his head in his hands dejectedly, "Elizabeth… no…"

He let her down. She was probably dead now, or worse, being held captive and tortured by those monsters. Booker couldn't believe he had let the one of the only people in the world who had actually bothered to care about him go.

"Hey now, cheer up Booker. There is a bright side to this," Rosalind told him while patting him on the back reassuringly

"What possible bright side could there be? I lost her…"

"The bright side is that we have the biggest tactical advantage known to man," Rosalind said excitedly, "Everyone thinks you're dead!"

"Everyone thinks I'm dead?" Booker repeated in a confused tone of voice

The mad scientist gave him a sarcastic look and retorted, "Well the barn you were in burst into flames, pretty much leaving you a charred broken corpse. How did you expect the rest of the world to take it? Only a few know you're actually alive."

"Who are those few?" he asked

Rosalind motioned for him to follow her as she walked towards a pair of large iron doors. "Can I get a little help here?"

Booker nodded and walked over to the doors. With a simple push, he opened the door and held it for Dr. Lutece, who didn't give him even a single nod of thanks. After the doctor had passed, Booker walked through and closed the iron doors behind him. When he turned around, he saw a surprising amount of familiar faces. In front of him was none other than Eleanor, Johnny, Alison and her child, Mary, Colonel Slate, and the mysterious man in the bowling cap. Mary's head immediately perked up when she saw Booker and a relieved smile graced her face. She ran over and gave him a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of him. "Oh God, Booker. I thought I had lost you!"

"Mary, what are you doing here," Booker asked, trying to wiggle free of his sister's tight embrace.

"Oh God Booker, it was terrible," she told him in a scared tone of voice, "They came knocking at our door, telling us that we had to die for our family's sins! I didn't know what to do, so Alex, Jimmy, and I ran for it. We managed to escape and hop a train to California, where I last heard you were going. When we came across Dr. Lutece, she told us what had happened and we have been here ever since!"

"The Crows came after you," Booker exclaimed angrily. Then, a terrible realization dawned on him. "Dad, is he alright? Have they gone after him?"

"I-I don't know Booker. New York city is like a whole different city now. There's been all sorts of mysterious murders ever since you left. No one goes outside anymore, I swear it's like some sort of evil has possessed it."

"The crows have probably integrated into every level of society by now," Slate added, rubbing his beard thoughtfully, "They're planning something big. They've never been this active before."

"Slate, you were in on this?" Booker asked, trying to get a grip on how many people actually knew about this cult

Slate nodded, "I've known about these sons of bitches for a long time now. Not as long as Abel, though."

Booker gave him a puzzled look and asked, "Abel, who's Abel?"

The man in the bowling hat stepped forward and greeted Booker with a hand shake, "I know we've met before, but I never got to properly introduce myself. My name is Abel. I've been watching you Mr. DeWitt, and I must say that I chose my predecessor well."

"Your predecessor? Is there another thing that I am that I have no idea about?"

Abel chuckled, "I'm sure you've heard my nephew call you it a couple times? Surely you've picked up on it, detective DeWitt."

Booker thought for a second, and then remembered the one thing that assassin, Cain, kept calling him. "Songbird?"

"There we go, I knew you'd figure it out," Abel said, patting Booker on the back, "and your skills and genetic ability makes you the perfect one!"

"Sorry, Abel was it?"

Abel nodded and Booker continued, "Well sorry Abel, but I don't know the first thing about being the Songbird. Hell, I don't even know what it means!"

"Seems to me like you were pretty good at beforehand. You know how to fight against the Eternal Brotherhood of the Crows and their Court of Ravens. You seem to be more than able to defend the Elizabeth."

Booker laughed bitterly, "More than able? If you haven't noticed, I lost her!"

"But nothing says that you can't get her back!"

Booker sat down next to his sister and sighed, "Look, I seriously doubt they've kept her alive."

"What are you talking about Booker?" Mary exclaimed angrily, "Elizabeth isn't their prisoner, she's practically their spokesperson!"

"What are you talking about?" Booker asked, "Elizabeth would never join those…"

Then it dawned on him. She had made a deal with them that if they gave Booker a chance of living, than she would comply with whatever their demands were. Elizabeth had given up her freedom for him and what did he have to show for it? He wished he had just died there, and allowed Elizabeth the freedom she deserved. But now she was nothing but an empty shell, the puppet for the Court of Ravens, and it was his entire fault.

"Elizabeth isn't to blame for this," Booker explained to Mary, hoping to at least pull some of the heat off of his lost friend, "She gave up her freedom to stop them from executing me on the spot. If it weren't for her I'd be dead."

"Well that's great and all, but it really doesn't make us feel any better. Your lady friend is a very charismatic speaker, and is gaining followers very quickly," Slate told him

"What do you mean?"

Rosalind walked over and picked up a newspaper that was lying on the table. She handed it to Booker, who opened it up quickly to see just what the hell everyone was going on about. In bold letters he read, "Mayor Jackson elected Governor".

"Elizabeth has been speaking at all of his campaigns, endorsing him and helping him gain followers faster than anyone I've ever seen in my life. There isn't anyone who seems to be able to disagree with her," Rosalind explained to Booker, snatching the newspaper back from his hands.

"So the crows have one Governor on their side, so what?"

"Booker, you don't understand," Rosalind said in a dire tone, "They don't have just one governor. They have thirty two."

Booker's jaw dropped. Thirty two? How long have they been working their way into America's government? For all he knew, Jackson could have been the most recent in a long line of corrupted offices. With that kind of support, they could potentially hold the whole system in a vice. The crows practically controlled a huge chunk of the Untied States.

"So how are we supposed to fight that kind of power?"

Rosalind smiled widely and answered, "Simple. You kill off their main governing body, the Court of Ravens."

Booker stared at Rosalind for a bit in disbelief, and then began to crack up. Rosalind's smile quickly turned into a glare, "Just what are you laughing at DeWitt?"

"We have no idea who any of these people are," Booker laughed, wiping a tear from his eye, "How the hell am I supposed to kill of a group of people whose names I don't even know?"

"We're going to have Elizabeth target them for us," Rosalind responded, "We need you to try and initiate contact with her. If what you say is true, than she'll be more than willing to help."

Booker was quiet for a minute. Did he really want to let Elizabeth get into deeper trouble by playing the part of the informant? "Would she be safe?" he asked, genuinely concerned, just as she would have been for him.

Rosalind bit her lip nervously and asked, "Do you want an honest answer?"

Booker knew that even though honest wasn't what he wanted to hear, it was what he needed. When you realize everything you once knew was just an imperfect shroud made to cover an ugly reality, truth, while jarring, is the only cure. "Give it to me straight," He told her, almost wishing he hadn't asked.

"Yes, if you capture her, the crows will assume she has betrayed them. She will be in extreme danger," Dr. Lutece answered simply, not bothering to lighten the blow or beat around the bush.

Booker took a second and looked around the table. All these people were counting on him, depending on him to step up to whatever mantel they had set and carry out this mission. He couldn't let down his own sister. But more importantly, Elizabeth was depending on him. She had given up her freedom so that he could have a chance at life, and he would be damned if he let her down a second time. No, the crows had to pay. But could he really fight a power that much larger than himself.

"Booker,"

Booker turned around and saw Alison standing behind him, holding her baby closely, her eyes puffy and red. He quickly realized that someone was missing from the picture. It was someone that a family should not be without.

"Alison, where is Quinton," Booker asked gravely, looking her in the eyes.

Alison let out a sob and began to break down, "They killed him Booker. They killed him and took Fitz. I was only able to escape because Johnny managed to fight them off along with Abel, but there were so many! Please, avenge my husband," Alison fell to her knees and began to cry into Booker's pant leg, "Those… those bastards have to be shown that they cannot get away with such horrid acts! God, Booker, they sent crows to tear him to shreds, right in front of us. He was trying to fend them off, away from your body, but there were too many! Please, don't let his sacrifice go in vain!"

Booker was surprised that Quinton had actually tried to protect his body from the vicious flesh-eating crows. The man who had hated him threw his life away to protect him. It was a sacrifice that Booker couldn't ignore. It was the final straw.

Booker helped Alison up and into one of the seats, then turned to Rosalind, a new fiery passion burning in his eyes, "Just point me in the right direction and I swear to God I'll have their heads on a fucking plate."

"That is just what I wanted to hear," Rosalind said, satisfied with Booker's response, "If you will just follow me we'll get you ready."

Booker tailed behind Rosalind, who began to guide him through the winding halls of her safe house. It was an impressive facility to say the least. It had hundreds of rooms filled with prototype machines that Booker had never even seen before. He never really noticed it, but through all her insanity, Rosalind was probably the genius of their era. After about five minutes of navigating through different labs and test rooms, they finally came across a large steel wardrobe. Rosalind grabbed the handles and threw it open, revealing what Booker thought was the most incredible piece of craftsmanship in his life.

"This is the Songbird armor mark VI," she told him as she pulled out different compartments holding different parts of the armor, "fully equipped with night vision, flight capabilities, built in radio, and created with reinforced titanium dipped Kevlar."

Booker just gawked at the suit in amazement. It would have been more believable if she had told him she got a time machine and went to the future to pick the thing up. The torso part looked light and flexible, yet extremely durable. The gauntlets had three groves in it that ran down the side, as well as three spikes jetting out that looked like they were for catching blades. The limbs were covered in what looked like a light chainmail, and the combat boots were steel toed and came up to his shins. The mask was probably the most intimidating part; It was a metal piece that covered his whole head, with two glaring red eyes for him to see through. The whole suit was colored black and brown, except for a golden emblem on the chest with what looked like the side view of a bird's head.

What really stood out was the pair of wings attached to the back of the suit. They looked light, yet functional, a perfect combination. Booker walked over and ran his hand across the canvas of the wing, testing it for any possible flaws. "So this thing can really fly?"

"Of course it can, I made it," Rosalind scoffed, "Now try it on!"

Booker grabbed the mask and held it in his hands, feeling the weight for himself. After getting a feel for it, he put it on one of the tables beside him and turned to Rosalind. "Unless you want to see me naked, I suggest you give me a couple minutes alone."

"Oh, of course," Rosalind said quickly, turning around and exiting the room as to give Booker some privacy.

A couple minutes later, Booker walked out in full armor. When Rosalind saw him, she couldn't help but laugh maniacally, "This is perfect! I've done it again!"

Booker couldn't believe how easy movement was in the suit, especially with the two wings on his back. "So how do I work the multiple features on this thing?"

"That's the best part," Rosalind told him as she circled around, inspecting her work, "When you were a sleep I gave you another of my concoctions to psychically link your mind to the suit. The wings should work like an extra pair of limbs!"

Booker tested her claim out by willing the wings to flap. Immediately, he found himself flying in place effortlessly.

"Wow!" Booker exclaimed as he flew back and forth down the narrow hallway, "This is incredible!"

"Stop playing around Mr. DeWitt, we still have much to do," Rosalind snapped, grabbing one of his wings and yanking him back to the ground.

Booker brushed himself of and grumbled a couple curses beneath his breath, but Rosalind did not seem to hear, nor care.

"Now all we need is to get you armed," Dr. Lutece told Booker as she led him back through the facility towards what he assumed would be the armory

"Doesn't this come with built in guns or something?" Booker asked as the two approached the heavy iron door guarding the weaponry.

Lutece gave him a sharp glare and snarled, "It is perfect in its design. Built in guns? I'm a scientist, not a magician."

"Right…" Booker said, deciding it would be best not to tic her off.

Rosalind walked over to what looked like a phone dial next to the door and typed in a code. The door then unlocked with a click, allowing them through. As Booker passed by, he took an extra couple seconds to observe the strange lock on the door. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, but then again, most of the stuff in this lab was.

"Welcome to the armory Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind said as she stepped to the side, revealing a wall completely covered in guns, "I do hope you like what you see. Each is custom made."

Booker looked over the different guns, amazed by how well made each of them was.

"I am told that you were partial towards your revolvers, so I decided to modify them as well," Rosalind told him as she pulled out a small box and opened it for him.

Inside were Booker's pistols, but something about them looked different. The barrel was slightly larger, and the handle was a crimson red. Booker picked both up and found that, despite the heavier looking build, they were lighter than ever.

"I call them the P-9 Silent Hand Cannon," Rosalind told him, "Powerful, quiet, and deadly. The barrel was designed to conceal the sound of the shot. Go ahead, give it a try."

Booker looked over to a couple targets that were on the wall and brought one of the guns up to eye level. After a couple seconds of preparation, he fired, hitting the target right in the head. Rosalind was telling the truth, the gun barely emitted a sound after being fired, plus the recoil was miniscule. It was one of the most finely crafted weapons he had ever shot.

"Anything else?" he asked, placing the pistols on the table next to him

Rosalind walked over to the wall and began to scan it over, trying to find another good silent killer. After a couple seconds, her eyes lit up and she pulled down another interesting gun from the wall. It looked like some sort of hunting rifle, but something about it was different. The barrel was longer, and there seemed to be two stands that could be pulled out from the sides. Like the revolvers, the stock was crimson red.

"A hunting rifle?" Booker observed as she handed him the gun

Rosalind shook her head, "No, I call it the Bird's Eye Sniper rifle. I have also modified the barrel to muffle sound, as well as added a tripod for easier aiming. It's bolt action, and is able to hold a fairly large clip. The scope has zooming capabilities, for longer distance shots. This weapon is so accurate, you could shoot the wings off of a fly from miles away."

Booker looked down the sights and took a shot, easily hitting a bull's eye. He whistled loudly, happy with the arsenal being provided. "These are some of the best guns I've ever shot!"

"Again, of course they are, I made them," Rosalind told him nonchalantly, "Now I have one more thing for you."

She pulled what looked like a sword from off of the wall and drew it, revealing a beautiful silver, double-edged sword.

"This is one of my personal favorites," Rosalind explained as she laid it out on the table, admiring her work, "Simple yet elegant."

"What does it do?" Booker asked, expecting another crazy modification or device

Rosalind gave him an annoyed look and retorted in a sarcastic tone of voice, "It is a sword, what do you think it does?"

Booker held his hands up submissively and simply said, "Alright, alright, tell me about it."

Rosalind nodded and began her description, "I call this blade the Deathstroke. Crafted from the finest of metals, it is light and fast, yet durable. As you can see, near the guard, a small part of the blade is serrated, while the rest of the blade is smooth and sharp. It is a great weapon for close combat, and also a silent killer."

"It is pretty cool, isn't it," Booker mused as he picked it up, taking a couple swings with it.

"Pick anything else that you can carry without being weighed down and come back to the war room once you are finished," Rosalind told him as she left the room, leaving Booker.

The amount of killing tools in the armory was almost overwhelming. It was definitely one of their greatest advantages, but was it enough to stop the Crows? They were greatly outnumbered, and the Crows had influence that they could never dream to achieve. Fighting against this cult would be near impossible.

"It doesn't matter," Booker told himself quietly as he sheathed the sword, "It doesn't matter what the odds are. I promised I would protect her, and I will not let her down. I will stop them, no matter what it takes."

**A/N: IMPORTANT! I have created a deviantart page so I could post a drawing I made of Booker's Songbird armor, just in case I didn't describe it well enough. The link will be posted on my profile page, so please visit it!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I hope you all enjoy this new chapter! I also hope you liked the drawing. It wasn't super detailed (I would have added more seams in the leather shoulder pads if I knew how to make it look good) but I think it got the job done. Anyways, enjoy!**

** Johann: Yeah, sorry I didn't look more into that. I'm just kinda going off of the excuse that Rosalind is a genius and somehow made it work. I will try to do more fact checks next time!**

** archangel: Yeah, I usually don't put the full name in my responses. I figure if I put part of it, the person who I'm responding to knows its them. I'm glad you liked my little twist though!**

** CJ: Yep, this is war!**

** Laengruk: Yeah, I always wanted to make a songbird armor**

** MF71: Lets keep our fingers crossed! (Except for me cause I'm the writer)**

** Amaras: Yeah, I'm trying to put kind of a different atmosphere around part two, just like they did in the game (that one big turning point in Finktown where you're helping the Vox Populi)**

** Redneck: Just saying, love your name! Cain is not Jack from Bioshock one, though. His origin will become clear soon though...**

** IsaacClark: No problem man, just glad you got around to reading it. As for the turn, like I said earlier, I was trying to replicate the change in atmosphere that happened mid game in Bioshock infinite.**

** Zach: Yep, Booker's gonna start hunting those bastards down!**

** Heyoo: Steve? Is that you man? I'm your biggest fan! (You'll get that if you got your name from where I think you did)**

Chapter Thirteen: The Songbird Begins

_Case Name: The Brotherhood of the Crow_

_February 16, 1913_

_Client(s): Elizabeth Anne Longworth, Lt. James Arthur Roland, Dr. Rosalind Lutece_

_Case Update: The Brotherhood of the Crow has captured Elizabeth and has been extorting her to gain political power. They have managed to already put 32 of their members into high positions in the United States government. I have found Dr. Rosalind Lutece, an expert physicist and inventor who knows more about the Crows than many. She has contracted me with eliminating the highest level of authority within the cult, the Court of Ravens. This Court of Ravens is apparently composed of twenty people, all senior members of the cult. Their will is carried out by a group of highly trained assassins led by a man named Cain. The only two known members of the court are Zachary and Anne Longworth, Elizabeth Longworth's parents. To find the others, I must initiate contact and possible rescue Elizabeth, in hopes that she has been entrusted with the identities of every member of the court._

_Personal Thoughts: Have you ever realized that everything you knew wasn't real? And if you have, do you wish that you could have stayed ignorant? The crows are everywhere, always have been. They watch us with their beady red eyes, controlling our every move as if we were puppets. I thought once that I knew a dark and terrifying world, but the truth is I was just as blind as everyone else. Even though the world has changed, my code still stays the same. Trust no one but yourself. Seeing as what happened at the Longworth's estate, that lesson should now be obvious. Watch your back, because there is always someone out to get you. That rings true now more than ever. They have people everywhere. The poor, the rich, the powerful, the Crows are in on it all. This is unlike any war I have ever fought in. In Wounded Knee, the enemy was right in front of me, clear as day. But now, the enemy is all around. Fear he who strikes from the unknown, as well as the unexpected. And I will be unexpected. They think me dead, but they'll quickly find just how alive I am. I am the Songbird. They will know fear. They will know fear._

"DeWitt, stop writing in your diary and prepare yourself! We're almost over the drop zone," Rosalind yelled, snatching Booker's case file out of his hand. Booker sighed and stood up, beginning to mentally prepare himself. He pulled out each of his guns and checked them, making sure they were full of ammunition. Then, Booker made sure his bandoliers were full; he was going to need every shot. As he prepared, he felt someone's hand cup his shoulder. Booker turned around and saw Abel standing behind him in his bowler hat and suit.

"Just remember what I told you, Booker."

**_Hours earlier_**

Booker walked into the war room in the full Songbird armor, guns strapped to his back and sword sheathed. The minute he stepped inside, his presence was known. The armor definitely had the effect Rosalind was going for when making it: fear. The red eyes of the mask were emotionless, cold, and intimidating. The combat boots and shoulder pads added a couple inches on his height. Overall, he looked like a killing machine.

"My God Booker," Mary gasped when she saw him, shocked that the creature standing in front of her was her brother, "you look…"

"-Terrifying," Eleanor finished, smirking mischievously, "They won't know what hit him."

Slate stood up and clapped Booker on the back, letting out a deep chuckle, "Those bastards will be too busy pissing themselves to fight!"

"Yes, yes, Mr. DeWitt looks very intimidating indeed, now let's get back on topic," Rosalind snapped, nodding towards an open seat for Booker.

Booker sat down next to Johnny and Mary, who was still looking at him, trying to figure out where under that armor was her little brother. Rosalind pulled a chalk board into the room and began drawing something on it while everyone waited patiently and quietly. Once the mad scientist was finished she stepped away, revealing a carefully thought out battle plan.

"As you all know, now is the time to strike back at the Crows," she began, pulling out a pointer and thwacking the board with it, "And the first step to our attack is finding out who they actually are. Now, we know that Elizabeth Longworth is being held somewhere in the city. The bad news is that we have no idea where. New York is a quite large city, and scouring it would take much to long, so we will need someone to point us in the right direction."

"Hold on, I thought the whole reason we want to find Elizabeth was so that she could tell us who is in the Crows?" Eleanor interrupted

Rosalind shot her an annoyed glare and answered, "Yes, we need Elizabeth to find the members of the court, but not to find any old member. In fact, I'm sure Booker knows exactly where we can find one."

Booker thought for a couple seconds and then realized what she was talking about. The man who ran the counter at the pin store, the one who stabbed him in the hand, had gotten away before Booker could shoot him. For all he knew, the man may have gone right back to that same store.

"Yeah, I think I know where I could find one," Booker confirmed, "and I would very much appreciate a chance to get back at him."

"Then it's settled, we send Booker in to hunt down and find the man," Rosalind announced

"What about the rest of us?" Mary asked, "We want to help too. I'm not standing by and letting my brother take this on alone!"

Abel stood up slowly and responded in a clam and soothing voice, "You will be helping. In Manhattan, there is a group of people that have been forced into hiding because of the Crows. While Booker is keeping the cult's attention, you, Johnny, and Eleanor will be helping them evacuate out of the city."

Mary nodded, content, and sat back down. Johnny, though, suddenly let out a throaty growl, catching everyone's attention.

"Um, what does he want," Rosalind asked, looking at Johnny as if he was some sort of gorilla

"He doesn't want me going," Eleanor quickly answered, as if Johnny had just spoken perfect English.

"Why?"

"Because he's overprotective and thinks that I'm a child still," Eleanor retorted angrily, glaring at her father, "but I'm still going anyways."

Johnny let out another angry growl, slamming his fist down on the table.

"Father, I am not sitting by and doing nothing!"

"Alright, that's enough," Booker intervened, trying to clear the air between the feuding family, "You two discuss this privately. Rosalind, what do we do about the new governor? He's probably got the whole police force on high alert."

"Don't worry," Rosalind chuckled, "Commissioner James has made no attempt to further pursue you. For all they know, you're dead, remember?"

"Oh, right…"

Rosalind nodded curtly and then turned back to the rest of the group, "Now that that's settled, we can get moving. I will lead you all to the hanger where we can use my airship to take us east. Gather any equipment you need before we leave, whether it be weaponry or anything of personal value. We're going to be there for a while."

With that, the meeting was adjourned. Everybody filed out of the room except for Booker, Mary, and Abel, who stayed in their seats, watching everyone leave them behind. After they all left, Mary stood up and walked over to Booker and grabbed hold of the bottom of his mask. With a powerful tug, she yanked the face piece off, revealing Booker's true features.

"Booker, are you sure you should do this?" she asked in a concerned tone of voice

"What do you mean?" Booker responded as he grabbed the face piece back from her and began to clamp it back on, "Of course I should do this."

Mary sighed and sat down on the table in front of him, looking into his eyes with a caring face that only a sibling could conjure. "Booker, this job may require you to kill a lot of people. Now I know you may not even see this as a problem, but it can do things to your health."

Booker looked up at her confusedly, "My health?"  
Mary nodded, "Yes Booker, your mental health. Think what war has done to you! You were never the same after you left with the cavalry. When you came back, it was like you were a completely different person, with the drinking and the gambling. I just don't want to see you end up killing yourself."

"What happens to me doesn't matter anymore," Booker told her sternly as he stood up from his seat, "Elizabeth gave up her _freedom_ for me, her own freedom Mary. I owe this to her."

Booker was caught of guard when Mary smiled at what he said. Wasn't she upset that he was taking up the mantle of the Songbird?

"You really care for her, don't you," Mary asked with a sullen happiness

Booker realized that there was no way around it now that Mary had thrown that question at him. There was no convincing himself otherwise, there was no deciding against it. If he was going to dive into the real world, the harsh and even more twisted reality; he was going to have to be truthful with himself. He did care for Elizabeth, at least to the point where he'd endanger his own life to save hers. And Booker was all right with this, because what was about to happen, what he was about to do. This mission wasn't just a mere contract; it wasn't professional. It was personal.

"Yes, I do," Booker answered, "and I'm not going to let her down. Not again."

Mary patted him on the shoulder and said in an encouraging tone, "Go get 'em Booker."

After she left, Abel stepped up to Booker, holding a strange bottle with him. Booker eyed him and the bottle suspiciously, "What is that?"

"This," Abel responded, holding the cobalt blue bottle up to the light, "is the final thing you need to become the Songbird."

He handed Booker the bottle, who weighed it in his hand and began inspecting it carefully. It was made of glass and had a pleasing geometric shape, a bit similar to a whisky bottle. Booker flicked it on the side lightly and created a small, high pitched, ring.

"Go ahead, drink it down," Abel encouraged him

Booker removed his mask, uncapped the bottle, took a deep breath, and then downed the liquid as fast as he could. After chugging the whole thing, he didn't feel anything different. The drink had tasted pretty awful, but aside from that nothing was really out of place.

Booker looked questioningly at Abel, who seemed to just be smiling and waiting for something. "So what exactly is this supposed to d-"

Suddenly, it felt like the liquid had just turned into lava in his stomach, burning a whole right through him. Booker screamed out in agony and fell to his knees as the burning sensation grew, dropping the bottle with a loud shatter on the ground. He began to feel dizzy as the pain increased, his vision growing blurry and doubling. Booker felt like he was going to throw up, but for some reason couldn't purge the God forsaken concoction. Suddenly, he felt something weigh down on his shoulder, like an animal had landed on top of it. When he looked up, he saw a black and brown bird on his shoulder, cocking his head and staring at him as if he was crazy. Then, as quickly as it came, the pain left his body, leaving him panting, gasping for air.

Once Booker had regained his strength, he quickly drew his knife and grabbed Abel by the throat, holding him up threateningly. "What the hell was that?! Were you trying to kill me?!"

"Please… let go… will… explain," Abel choked out as Booker grappled his throat. Deciding to give the man some mercy, Booker dropped him, but kept his knife out just in case.

Abel eventually got to his feet, rubbing his throat painfully, and began to explain. "What you just took is a modified version of the drug the court's assassins use to gain their telepathic power over crows. Do you remember a large bird that was always around when you saw me?"

Booker nodded, thinking back on the big white bird that was perched next to Abel when he saw him in Elizabeth's hometown, "Yeah, I think I do."

"Well this drug allows you to summon a flock of predatory birds. It's an essential power to have when dealing with them."

"So why isn't mine white?" Booker asked curiously, looking over to the bird perched on his shoulder.

"I don't know," Abel answered with a soft laugh, "I guess it's different for each Songbird."

Just as Booker was about to leave, Abel called back to him, "Hold on, I've got one more thing for you."

"This isn't going to make me feel like my insides are burning, is it?" Booker groaned, preparing himself for another painful and traumatic experience

"No, no," Abel assured him, "It's just a story, along with some advice."

"Alright," Booker said warily

"Do you know what it means to be the Songbird?" Abel asked him as he began to pace back and forth in front of Booker.

"I have no idea," Booker answered truthfully, "I assume it has something to do with fighting the Ravens?"

Abel nodded, "Yes, it does. You see, the Crows have been around for hundreds of years, infecting and bending the inner most workings of society to their will. But, for as long as the Crows have been around, the order of the Songbird has been present as well, making sure that the Crows were never left unchecked. There used to be as many Songbirds as there were Crows, in fact, hundreds of members ready to fight off those animals tooth and nail."

"Wait, if there are so many others, why haven't they done anything about this!" Booker exclaimed in an annoyed tone of voice, "This whole situation has gotten wildly out of control!"

"Booker, you must understand that there are none left. All were killed off except for us two."

"Killed off?" Booker said, a bit surprised that a whole society the size of the Crows just disappeared so quickly, "How so?"

"They were all murdered by one of the most dangerous and evil man that has ever lived. He called himself the Crow Father," Abel answered

"The Crow Father?"

Able nodded and continued, "The Crow Father was the first to develop the concoction that you see the Brotherhood of the Crow use today. He came closer to wiping out most of the human race than anyone before."

"How so?" Booker asked, almost sweating, anticipating the terrible act that almost brought on apocalyptic consequences.

"That is a story for another time," Abel told him sternly, obviously trying to avoid the subject of what exactly this man did, "Right now you must mentally prepare yourself for the mission. Take it from someone who knows, this job can get to you. You're about to see a completely different side of the world that may not be all that pretty. But what ever you do, keep your wits about you. Have something to hold on to, something to keep in you mind while you descend down the rabbit hole. Make it something that you can hold on to no matter what, and is close enough that not even the most trying times will drive you away from it."

**_Present…_**

"I remember," Booker answered as he approached the door leading to the outside of the aircraft

As Booker approached the exit, Rosalind yelled to him, "Now make sure you deploy your wings as early as possible! Gain too much speed and they'll tear open faster than you can say quantum mechanics!"

"Alright," Booker called back nervously, reminding himself to open the wings as soon as possible

"We will be hovering above the cloud line as to not bring any unnecessary attention," she told him as he opened the door, causing cold wind to whip inside the blimp, "If you are planning to return, do so during night and make sure you are not seen!"

With one final nod of confirmation Booker took a deep breath and looked out into the black abyss that was the sky. This was stupid. How was he even sure the wings were going to work? What if they didn't work? What if they ripped anyways?

"Well, nothing ventured nothing gained," Booker told himself as he took a couple steps back. Then, after a seemingly silent pause, he took a running start and jumped from the aircraft.

**A/N: Booker's putting it all on the line now! It's time to strike back against the cult! No more running!**


End file.
